>rma 
ial 


MARIA  J.  McINTOSH'S 

TALES  AND  STORIES. 


AUNT  KITTY'S  TALES. 

CHARMS  AND  COUNTER-CHARMS. 

TWO   PICTURES;   OR,  How  WE  SEE  OUKSELVES, 

AND  HOW  THE  WORLD   SEES  Us. 

EVENINGS  AT  DONALDSON  MANOR. 
TWO  LIVES  ;  OB,  To  SEEM  AND  To  BE. 
THE  LOFTY  AND  LOWLY. 


tamo.     Cloth,  $1.00  per  vol.;   $6.00  per  set. 


TWO    PICTURES; 


OR, 


WHAT  WE  THINK  OF  OURSELVES,  AND   WHAT 
THE  WORLD  THINKS  OF  US. 


BY 

MARIA    J.    McINTOSH. 


*  There  is  some  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
Would  men  observingly  distil  it  out" — SJUAKESPKAKE,  Hen.  Y. 


NEW    YORK : 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1,    3,   AND   5   BOND    STREET. 

1881. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1SG3,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 

la  H'.<  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


PREFACE 


THERE  are  some,  it  may  be,  to  whom  this  book 
will  be  more  a  memory  than  an  imagination — some, 
who  may  recognize  in  the  child-hearted  Commodore 
Moray — in  his  wisdom,  free  from  one  taint  of  guile, 
in  his  generous  consideration  for  others,  in  his  sensi 
tiveness  to  every  touch  of  honor,  in  his  more  than 
womanly  tenderness,  and  his  more  than  manly  cour 
age, — a  feeble  portraiture  of  one  of  whom  it  may  in 
deed  be  said, 

"None  knew  him  but  to  love  him" 

It  has  been  suggested  to  the  author  that  the  dis 
covery  of  one  portrait  may  lead  to  the  search  for 
others ;  that  in  the  official  personages,  at  least,  and 
more  especially  in  those  connected  with  the  historical 
incident  of  the  landing  of  our  troops  on  the  Mexican 
coast,  the  sketches,  however  imperfect,  may  be  sup 
posed  to  be  sketches  from  life.  Such  a  supposition 
would  be  unjust  to  all  concerned,  and,  most  of  all, 
unjust  to  the  author,  who  has  simply  availed  herself 
of  the  vraisemblance  communicated  to  a  story  by  the 

1125289 


4:  PREFACE. 

working  in  of  a  historical  fact,  and  who  selected  the 
fact  in  question  mainly  because  the  time  of  its  occur 
rence,  and  the  incident  of  the  officer  who  first  com 
manded  the  squadron  having  been  withdrawn  and 
another  appointed  in  his  stead  before  the  landing  was 
effected,  harmonized  with  her  plan. 

The  incidents,  and  with  the  one  exception  to  which 
allusion  has  been  made,  the  characters  of  the  book 
are  purely  imaginary, — its  principles,  she  trusts,  will 
be  recognized  as  universally  and  eternally  true.  It 
may,  perhaps,  be  as  well  to  say  that  the  scheme  of 
Hugh  Moray,  for  the  gradual  elevation  of  those  com 
mitted  to  his  care,  was  suggested  by  her  acquaintance 
with  various  experiments  made  by  conscientious 
Southern  masters,  for  the  advantage  of  their  slaves. 
The  work  was  not  only  planned,  but  nearly  complet 
ed,  while  there  was  peace  in  the  land,  and  nothing 
seemed  likely  to  interfere  with  the  execution  of  de 
signs  so  truly  Christian.  The  delay  in  its  publication 
has  been  the  result  of  circumstances  of  no  interest  to 
any  but  the  author. 

NEW  YORK,  March  2Mb,  1863. 


OK, 

HOW    WE   SEE    OURSELVES,  AND   HOW   THE 
WORLD    SEES    US. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"  Where'er  we  roam, 
Our  first,  best  country  ever  is  at  home." — GOLDSMITH. 

HOME  !  Home  !  I  have  had  many  resting  places  in  my 
not  very  long  life — this  is  my  nineteenth  birthday, — but 
I  have  had,  and  can  have  but  one  home.  For  eight  years, 
I  have  not  seen  it  with  the  bodily  eye,  and  yet,  how  vivid 
ly  it  stands  before  me  at  this  moment !  A  month  ago, 
I  determined  to  make  a  picture  of  it.  The  picture,  to 
which  I  have  given  all  my  leisure  hours,  is  done ; — here, 
in  this  record  of  thought  and  feeling,  meant  only  for  my 
self,  I  may  say  what  I  truly  think,  that  it  is  well-done ; — 
yet  I  am  not  satisfied. 

There  is  the  very  beach  on  which  I  gathered  shells  with 
my  faithful  nurse, — my  kind,  devoted  Charity.  To  the 
eastward,  the  blue  waves  are  lifting  their  white  foam- 
crests  to  the  sun.  Inland,  I  can  distinguish  amid  the  mass 
of  verdure  which  marked  the  almost  tropical  luxuriance 
of  St.  Mary's  Isle,  the  glistening  leaves  of  the  orange  trees 


6  TWO   riCTUBES. 

half  concealing  their  snowy  flowers  and  golden  fruit,  and 
the  darker  green  of  the  old  oaks,  "  the  king  of  forests 
all,"  from  whose  giant  boughs  the  long  pendent  moss  sus 
pends  its  floating  drapery  of  silvery  gray.  Within  the 
circle  of  those  oaks,  rises  the  home  which  sheltered  my 
orphan  childhood  ; — a  building  of  wood,  two  stories  in 
height,  surrounded  by  a  piazza,  whose  pillars,  wreathed 
with  roses,  honeysuckles  and  woodbine,  gave  something  of 
airy  lightness  to  what  would  otherwise  have  been  without 
ornament  or  grace. 

So  far,  pencil  and  brush  have  done  their  part  truly. 
The  gnarled,  misshapen  trunk  of  that  old  oak,  those  great 
arms  that  seem  to  me  now  to  be  thrown  out  as  in  a  grand 
despair, — they  looked  not  thus  in  my  childhood, — all,  all 
are  perfect.  The  very  stains  and  streaks  upon  the  weather- 
beaten  walls  of  the  house,  have  been  faithfully  retained 
in  my  memory  and  rendered  here  ;  but  ah  !  I  could  not 
give  the  shimmer  and  the  sheen  as  the  sunlight  flashed 
from  the  waves,  and  the  leaves  were  stirred  by  the  soft 
breath  of  heaven.  And  the  sky  ! — I  have  spent  hours  on 
it  in  vain.  Where  could  I  find  a  blue  so  soft?  What 
brush  could  give  a  touch  so  light  as  those  white,  gauzy 
clouds  that  floated  along  its  surface  ? 

One  day  I  shall  give  this  a  companion  picture.  It  shall 
be  St.  Mary's  Isle  as  it  appeared  to  me  when  the  demon  of 
the  storm  was  abroad.  Then,  I  could  neither  ramble 
through  the  woods,  or  over  the  flowery  savannas,  gay  with 
pink  anemones,  crimson  coral-plants,  purple  violets,  and 
the  yellow  spires  of  the  golden  rod  ;  nor  could  I  stand  upon 
the  beach,  while  Charity  gathered  for  me  the  smoothest 
and  brightest  of  shells,  musing  with  a  child's  simple  won 
der  on  the  mysteries  of  that  great  and  deep  sea,  with  its 
ever-sounding  voice.  The  voice  I  still  heard  on  stormy 
days,  as  standing  on  a  window  seat  in  my  uncle's  library, 


TWO   PICTURES.  7 

I  looked  out  upon  its  wildly  tossing  waves  ;  but  its  usual, 
deep-toned  murmur  became,  then,  a  roar  at  which  I 
trembled.  I  was  called  a  fearless  child,  because  at  six 
years  old  I  would  ride  my  uncle's  hunting  horse  whenever 
1  was  permitted,  sitting  in  his  large  saddle  as  if  it  were  a 
chair  of  state  ;  or,  I  would  lay  my  hand  upon  our  great  St. 
Bernard  dog,  regardless  of  his  thunderous  growl ;  but  he 
would  scarce  have  thought  me  brave,  who  had  touched  my 
cold  hands,  or  felt  my  wild  heart-beats,  when  the  storm, 
dashed  the  ocean  spray  against  the  window  by  which  I 
stood,  tossed  the  fruit  and  flowers  from  the  orange  trees, 
and  catching  the  outstretched  arms  of  the  giant  oaks,  made 
them  shiver  in  its  grasp,  or  bowed  their  lofty  heads  to  the 
earth. 

I  have  heard  that  my  uncle  had  been  a  gay  man  in  his 
youth,  and  that  afterward  he  had  devoted  himself  to  poli 
tics  for  a  time,  with  extraordinary  zeal.  Long  before  my 
birth,  both  these  phases  of  his  life  had  passed  away.  I 
remember  him  first  as  a  lonely  man,  rarely  leaving  his 
island  home  except  on  business  connected  with  the  sale  of 
his  crops,  or  the  purchase  of  articles  demanded  by  his  large 
plantation.  There  was  no  doubt  a  history  appended  to  this 
change, — a  history  which  might  account  for  the  tinge  of 
moroseness  that  marked  his  character  as  I  knew  him ;  but 
it  remains  an  untold  tale  ;  at  least,  I  never  heard  it. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  miser  about  my  uncle.  He 
had  inherited  a  large  property,  which  had  been  yearly  in 
creased  by  his  judicious  management.  Whatever  he  did, 
was  done  with  a  free,  he  would  have  said,  "  with  a  gentle 
manly  spirit."  The  negro  laborers  on  his  plantation  were 
as  well,  perhaps  a  little  better,  fed  and  clothed  than  others 
of  the  same  class.  St.  Mary's  was  famed  for  its  numerous 
deer,  and  scarcely  less  so  for  its  master's  hospitality  to 
those  who  sought  it  for  the  pleasure  of  the  chase,  or  for  the 


8  TWO    PICTURES. 

enjoyment  of  its  ocean  breezes.  Public  and  private  chari 
ties  found  in  him  a  generous  contributor.  But  his  principal 
outlay  was  for  books.  Few  private  libraries  in  our  coun 
try,  I  have  heard  it  said,  could  equal,  in  the  number  or  value 
of  their  books,  that  plain,  unadorned  room,  which  was  known 
by  the  name  of  "  the  study  "  in  my  Southern  home.  Yet, 
with  all  this  expenditure,  my  uncle  grew  richer  and  richer, 
till  Hugh  Moray,  of  St.  Mary's  Isle,  was  talked  of  as  one 
of  the  wealthiest  men  south  of  the  Potomac. 

Much  that  I  have  hero  said  of  my  uncle  I  have  recalled 
by  an  effort  of  memory,  desiring  to  record  for  my  own 
satisfaction  those  varied  traits  which  make  up  the  picture 
of  the  man.  Children  are  more  impressed  by  externals, 
and  what  occurs  to  me  spontaneously  when  I  think  or  speak 
of  this  guardian  of  my  early  life,  is  a  man  of  medium 
height,  with  a  vigorous,  athletic  form,  curling  hair  of  a  dark 
brown  mingled  with  gray,  a  forehead  broad,  straight,  and 
somewhat  low,  eyes  unusually  grave  and  thoughtful,  but 
flashing  with  a  quick  gleam  of  passion  at  slight  provocation, 
a  straight  nose,  and  lips  whose  firm  pressure  seemed  rigid 
as  marble.  Most  vividly  do  I  recall  him,  clad  in  a  hunting 
suit  of  dark  green  cloth,  the  legs  and  thighs  protected  by 
leathern  galligaskins, — as  I  think  they  were  called, — a  light 
cap  upon  his  head,  a  powder  flask,  shot  pouch,  and  small 
horn  slung  across  his  breast,  mounting  his  horse  amid  the 
barkings  and  yelpings  of  his  joyous  hounds,  to  ride  forth  to 
the  hunt;  or  sitting  at  dinner  with  his  guests,  shaming 
younger  men  by  the  neatness  and  good  taste  of  his  dress  ; 
or,  as  was  more  frequent  still,  spending  nearly  the  whole 
day  in  his  study,  seated  in  a  hard,  straight-backed  chair, 
completely  absorbed  in  the  book  before  him. 

Uncle  Hugh's  only  associate  on  the  island  was  an  old 
clergyman,  Mr.  Mortimer,  who  had  been  his  tutor  in  his 
college  days.  Mr.  Mortimer,  having  outlived  his  wife,  and 


TWO   PICTUEES.  9 

the  children  who  had  probably  inherited  her  consumptive 
tendencies,  had  been  persuaded,  in  his  lonely  old  age,  to 
occupy  a  cottage  which  his  former  pupil  had  caused  to  be 
built  for  him,  at  the  distance  of  little  more  than  a  mile  from 
his  own  home.  Here  he  employed  the  last  years  of  a  well- 
spent  life,  in  giving  the  instructions  of  a  Christian  pastor  to 
the  negroes  on  the  plantation,  and  to  the  occasional  visitors 
on  the  island.  In  the  midst  of  one  of  the  clumps  of  oak 
dotting  the  level  green  of  the  savanna,  rose  the  plain,  un- 
painted,  barn-like  building,  which  was  the  scene  of  these  in 
structions.  My  uncle  made  a  point  of  attending  them 
every  Sabbath  morning,  whether  from  respect  to  Mr.  Mor 
timer,  or  interest  in  his  sacred  theme,  I  know  not.  How 
unlike  any  thing  to  be  seen  elsewhere  were  these  Sabbath 
scenes  at  St.  Mary's !  On  that  day  was  brought  out  a 
heavy  old  family  coach,  which  Charity  assured  me  had  been 
very  handsome  when  my  uncle  purchased  it  on  my  father's 
marriage.  Before  I  knew  it,  however,  the  silver  ornaments 
showed  too  much  of  their  copper  base,  and  the  paint  was 
dull  and  scratched.  It  was  still  the  coach,  the  only  coach 
ever  seen  at  St.  Mary's,  and  I  felt  no  little  increase  of  dig 
nity  when,  seated  in  it  beside  my  uncle,  I  was  drawn  to 
church  by  two  shaggy  ponies,  natives  of  the  island  like 
myself.  My  uncle  would  have  thought  his  beautiful  saddle 
horses  ruined  by  being  put  into  harness. 

A  few  benches  in  the  church — 1  cannot  call  them  pews — 
were  reserved  for  us  and  our  guests,  seldom  numbering 
more  than  eight  or  ten,  and  the  rest  of  the  building  was  filled, 
crowded  with  negroes.  It  was  a  gay  sight — I  think  I  was 
dimly  conscious  of  its  picturesque  character  even  in  my 
childhood — to  see  the  negroes  in  their  bright-colored  holi 
day  dresses,  wending  their  way  to  the  church,  along  the 
road  and  over  the  savanna,  where  the  view  was  broken 
only  here  and  there,  at  considerable  intervals,  by  clumps  of 


10  TWO   riCTUKES. 

trees.  The  women  especially  added  to  the  brightness  of 
the  picture,  by  the  gay  handkerchiefs  wound  around  their 
heads,  somewhat  in  the  fashion  of  a  turban.  Mr.  Mortimer, 
I  am  convinced,  thought  as  much  of  these  negroes,  in  his 
teachings,  as  of  those  among  his  hearers  whose  skin  was 
colored  like  his  own  ;  perhaps  he  thought  even  more  of 
them  ;  yet  my  childish  heart  was  often  touched  by  his  ear 
nest,  fervent  prayers,  and  simple,  tender  lessons,  as  it  has 
never  been  touched  in  richly  ornamented  churches,  where 
the  most  artistic  music  pealed  "  through  long  drawn  aisles 
and  fretted  vaults,"  and  all  the  graces  of  popular  oratory 
lent  their  charm  to  the  ministrations  of  the  pulpit. 

The  strongest  passion  of  my  Uncle  Hugh's  passionate 
nature — I  have  good  reason  to  know  it — was  pride  of 
family.  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  rejected  the  largest 
estate,  or  the  noblest  place  that  could  have  been  offered 
him,  had  it  been  necessary  to  its  acceptance  that  he  should 
cease  to  be  a  Moray,  or  as  he  would  have  said,  the  Moray ; 
for  he  never  himself  forgot,  and  did  not  like  others  to  for 
get,  that  though  the  name  might  be  borne  in  other  lands 
by  some  who  had  won  proud  titles  to  prefix  to  it,  he  was 
still  the  Moray — the  eldest  son  of  the  eldest  branch — the 
head  of  the  house. 

Whatever  had  been  the  disappointments  or  disgusts 
which  had  driven  him  at  once  from  the  social  enjoyments 
and  the  political  contests  of  life,  they  had  probably  pre 
vented  his  marrying,  and  I  think  there  could  have  been  no 
greater  proof  of  their  power.  I  am  convinced,  for  reasons 
which  will  appear  in  this  narrative,  that  when  Uncle  Hugh's 
brow  grew  suddenly  dark,  when  he  checked  my  childish 
glee  and  sent  me  from  the  room  in  which  he  sat,  he  was 
goaded  by  the  thought  that  the  place  which  he  had  hoped 
would  become  the  seat  of  a  new  dynasty  of  Morays,  must 
descend  to  a  girl,  and  would  probably  pass  eventually,  by 


TWO    PICTURES.  11 

her  death  or  marriage,  into  some  other  family,  and  so  lose 
all  connection  with  the  name  he  desired  to  perpetuate. 
Uncle  Hugh  would  not  probably  have  fondled  any  child 
very  much  ;  but  to  me  he  rarely  spoke,  except  to  blame  or 
silence  me.  My  birth  had  disappointed  his  most  cherished 
desire.  My  father  was  his  nephew,  the  son  of  his  only 
brother,  and  he  had  adopted  and  educated  him  as  his  heir. 
With  his  ready  consent,  this  highly  prized  heir  married  an 
orphan  girl  of  good  family,  but  without  fortune.  In  little 
more  than  a  year  after  this  marriage,  the  war  of  1812  with 
England  began.  The  captain  of  a  volunteer  corps  of  cav 
alry,  my  father  could  not  resign  his  position,  because  he 
foresaw  that  what  had  been  hitherto  a  mere  holiday  show, 
was  about  to  become  a  reality,  full  of  danger  to  himself, 
and  of  heart-sickening  dread  to  those  who  loved  him.  His 
company  was  called  into  action,  and  he  died  at  its  head. 
I  was  but  a  few  days  old  when  intelligence  of  his  death  was 
brought  to  his  home.  It  was  impossible  to  conceal  it  long 
from  the  poor  young  wife,  whose  senses  had  been  quick 
ened  by  anxiety.  She  suffered  but  one  pang,  sinking  imme 
diately  into  unconsciousness,  and  passing  in  that  state  from 
this  world,  to  one  in  which  there  is  neither  parting  nor 
death. 

And  so  my  life  began — the  life  of  a  lonely  orphan,  left 
to  the  guardianship  of  one  to  whom  its  birth  had  brought 
only  disappointment.  Father !  Mother !  What  sweet 
names  !  Even  their  lifeless  miniatures — love  tokens,  not 
to  their  child,  but  to  each  other — look  to  me  as  no  other 
faces  have  ever  done.  And  yet,  I  was  not  all  uncared  for. 
Charity,  the  negress  assigned  to  me  as  my  nurse,  took  me 
to  her  warm  heart,  and  taught  me  all  my  childhood 
knew  of  love.  Mr.  Mortimer  had  always  a  kind  word  for 
the  orphan,  and  my  uncle  took  care  that  my  physical  wants 
were  supplied.  He  was  careful  that  my  dress  should  be 


12  TWO   PICTURES. 

such  as  became  Miss  Moray  of  St.  Mary's,  and  that  I  was 
kept  from  associations  which  might  communicate  a  tinge  of 
vulgarity  to  the  manners  of  his  supposed  heiress.  And  so, 
for  several  years,  I  had  nature  for  my  teacher,  and  Charity 
for  her  interpreter.  And  no  bad  interpreter  she  proved. 
I  learned  from  her  to  believe  that  there  was  a  soul  in  all 
things.  When  the  night  winds  swept  around  the  room  in 
which  I  lay,  she  heard  the  soft  footfalls  of  my  father  and 
mother,  or  felt  the  touch  of  their  cloud  garments,  as  they 
glided  by  her  low  couch,  to  stand  beside  the  crib  in  which 
their  baby  slept.  She  caught  their  whispers  in  the  soughing 
of  the  wind  through  the  pine  forest,  and  according  to  her, 
they  breathed  into  my  childish  ears,  through  the  convolu 
tions  of  the  sea  shell,  some  faint  echo  of  the  angels'  song, 
which,  if  they  could  succeed  in  giving  it  full  expression, 
would  draw  my  spirit  upward  to  them  in  heaven. 

It  may  be  thought  that  these  were  unhealthy  influences, 
and  would  have  made  a  child  of  sickly  fancies  :  they  only 
made  me  more  than  ordinarily  sensitive  to  all  the  aspects 
of  nature,  soothed  and  gladdened  by  her  gentleness,  awed, 
till,  as  I  have  already  said,  my  hands  grew  cold  and  my 
heart  beat  tumultuously  when  she  spoke  in  wrath.  Of  any 
thing  else  but  this  mute,  irresistible  power,  I  had  never  ex 
perienced  a  sensation  approaching  to  fear  ;  for,  though  my 
uncle  had  chided  or  passed  me  coldly  by,  he  had  never 
punished,  or  even  threatened  me ;  and  to  all  others  Charity 
had  taught  me  to  think  myself  superior.  Of  my  fearless 
ness  of  animals  I  gave  an  early  proof. 

"  Put  me  up,"  I  said,  at  six  years  old,  to  Gib,  my 
uncle's  somewhat  elderly  attendant,  as  he  stood  beside 
Black  Prince,  the  hunting  horse  from  which  his  master  had 
just  descended. 

"  I  can't,  missis ;  I  'feared  for  you,"  the  old  man  an 
swered,  with  a  good-natured  smile  at  my  ambition. 


TWO   PICTUKES.  13 

"  Put  me  up  !  "  I  repeated,  stamping  my  foot  in  childish 
wrath. 

"  I  'feared,  Miss  'Gusty,"  he  replied  again,  glancing  at 
his  master,  who  had  stopped  in  the  piazza  on  hearing  my 
tone  of  authority,  and  who  was  looking  on  with  some  appear 
ance  of  interest. 

"  Put  her  on,"  he  said  to  Gib,  "  and  hold  her  in  the 
saddle." 

Gib  obeyed. 

"  Let  me  go,"  I  cried,  struggling  violently  to  release  my 
dress  from  his  grasp,  regardless  of  his  exhortations  to  be 
quiet,  lest  I  should  frighten  the  horse.  At  a  sign  from  his 
master,  he  let  the  dress  go,  and  only  walked  beside  the  well- 
trained  horse,  accustomed  to  obey  his  voice.  I  think  I  rose 
considerably  that  day  in  my  uncle's  estimation.  Doubtless 
he  sighed  heavily,  that  one  exhibiting  so  much  of  the  genu 
ine  Moray  character  should  be  only  a  girl.  Still,  he  began 
to  entertain  the  idea  that  she  deserved  some  culture,  and 
that  with  proper  training,  she  would  reflect  no  disgrace 
upon  her  name. 

I  do  not  remember  how  my  consent  was  won,  but  I 
soon  found  myself,  for  a  part  of  every  morning,  the  com 
panion  of  Mr.  Mortimer  instead  of  Charity.  My  vanity 
may  perhaps  have  been  flattered  at  first  by  the  exchange ; 
but  very  soon,  all  personal  considerations  were  lost  in  the 
excited  curiosity,  which  made  me  willing  to  give  much 
more  time  to  my  books  than  was  demanded  by  my  indul 
gent  teacher.  This  new  element  of  my  life,  important  as  it 
was,  exercised  no  immediate  influence  on  character.  I  re 
mained  what  nature  and  my  first  teacher,  Charity,  had 
made  me — shy,  yet  fearless  to  my  equals  or  superiors, 
haughty  to  rny  inferiors,  or  to  those  whom  I  considered 
such,  yet  not  ungenerous,  if  they  submitted  to  my  claims. 
Such  I  was  when  new  threads  began  to  weave  themselves 


14  TWO   PICTURES. 

into  the  web  of  my  destirfy,  giving  to  it  at  once  a  richer  and 
a  darker  coloring. 

But  my  pulses  must  throb  less  wildly  before  I  can 
write  of  these ;  besides,  I  shall  be  wanted  soon  in  the  draw 
ing  room,  to  preside  at  the  tea  table,  or  to  play  polkas  and 
waltzes,  till  my  weary  fingers  sympathize  with  my  aching 
head  and  heart.  Either  employment  would  need  steadier 
nerves  than  such  a  retrospect  would  give  me.  So,  farewell 
to  the  pictures  conjured  by  memory  !  dim  shadows  of  the 
past,  farewell  till  another  hour  of  freedom  shall  restore  me 
to  myself  and  to  you.  Alone  !  alone  ! — so  distant  and  yet 
so  near  !  Would  that  the  wide  world  divided  me  from  all 
I  once  loved  !  Once  loved  1  Ah  me  1 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  O  Life !  how  pleasant  Is  thy  morning, 
Young  Fancy's  rays  the  hills  adorning ! 
Cold,  pausing  Caution's  lessons  scorning, 

We  frisk  away." — BITCNB. 

ONCE  more  I  am  alone.  Enchantress  !  by  whose  power 
the  past  and  the  distant  stand  again  visibly  before  us,  wave 
thy  wand,  and  transform  this  chill,  bare  room,  and  the  brick- 
walled  street  on  which  it  looks,  into  the  leafy  bowers,  the 
open  sky,  the  blue  waters  of  my  home ;  bid  me  lay  aside 
the  burdened  heart  and  bitter  consciousness  of  the  woman, 
for  the  careless  glee  of  the  child ;  let  me  sit  again  on  the 
floor  of  the  dining  room  at  St.  Mary's,  weaving  chaplets  of 
the  orange  flowers  and  jessamines  gathered  in  my  morning 
walk,  while  my  uncle  sits  longer  than  usual  over  his  wine, 
in  compliment  to  a  stranger  guest.  I  was  a  curious  child, 
listening,  with  an  air  that  did  not  seem  to  listen,  to  conver 
sations  which  would  scarcely  have  been  supposed  to  interest 
me,  and  puzzling  over  their  meaning  or  no  meaning,  till  I 
could  win  an  explanation,  sometimes  from  Charity,  some 
times  from  time. 

The  gentleman  who  was  dining  with  my  uncle  on  the 
day  to  which  I  allude,  was  from  Scotland.  lie  had  brought 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  a  friend  of  Mr.  Moray,  then  in 
Europe.  So  far  I  had  learned  from  Mr.  Mortimer,  who 


13  TWO   PICTURES. 

I  shall  hear  of  a  Moray  among  them.  I  shall  certainly 
inform  you  if  I  do.  Come,  little  lady  !  what  will  you  give 
me  for  a  husband  ?  I  will  not  charge  high — only  a  kiss 
paid  in  advance." 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  but  I  drew  myself 
out  of  his  reach,  and  looked,  I  dare  say,  haughty  enough. 

"  Proud  as  a  Moray  !  She  proves  her  lineage,  sir," 
said  the  stranger. 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  kind  Mr.  Mortimer,  thinking 
even  then  of  the  future  to  which  I,  poor,  unconscious  child, 
was  so  blind,  "  Perhaps  she  has  no  desire  to  relinquish  her 
place  to  an  heir." 

"  Oh  !  it  will  only  be  to  share  her  dignities — to  take  a 
king-consort,"  and  the  stranger  lightly  laughed. 

And  so  one  whose  very  name  I  should  have  forgotten* 
but  that  I  still  preserve  a  letter  found  among  my  uncle's 
papers  to  which  it  is  subscribed,  one  who  came  from  a  dis 
tant  land  to  my  remote  island  home,  in  the  gossip  of  an 
idle  hour,  changed  the  whole  color  of  my  destiny,  and,  hav 
ing  done  his  work,  passed  on,  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 

Strange  it  is  to  find  the  threads  of  our  being  thus 
crossed  by  other  threads  that  have  come  so  far  to  meet 
them  ! 

I  know  not  how  it  was  with  my  uncle,  but  I  had  quite 
forgotten  the  stranger  when  the  letter  was  received  from 
him,  which,  as  I  have  said,  I  still  preserve.  No  foreboding 
had  troubled  my  childish  life.  Mr.  Mortimer  was  my 
teacher,  and  a  most  indulgent  one.  I  had  become,  at  eleven, 
an  omnivorous  reader ;  not  of  the  little  books  intended  for 
children,  for  of  these  I  had  none.  But  I  did  not  need  them, 
for  I  had  the  glorious  dream  of  Bunyan,  Defoe's- weird  tale 
of  the  shipwrecked  solitary,  and  before  I. had  wearied  of 
these,  I  became  almost  equally  enchanted  by  Herodotus, 
with  his  quaint  stories  of  a  strange  old  world,  half  human, 


TWO   PICTURES.  19 

half  divine,  and  Froissart,  with  his  vivid  pictures  of  knightly 
times.  Of  any  existing  world  beyond  St.  Mary's,  I  neither 
knew  nor  thought.  Its  groves  of  orange  and  clumps  of 
oak,  its  flowery  savannas,  its  sparkling  sea,  and  shell- 
strewn  beach,  were  the  whole  visible,  tangible  universe  to 
me. 

I  love  to  linger  over  those  untroubled  years  in  which 
my  life  was  so  peacefully  unfolding ;  but  the  letter  came, 
and  all  was  changed. 

This  letter  told  of  two  families  of  the  name  of  Moray,  liv 
ing  in  Elizabcthtown,  in  the  State  of  New  Jersey.  These 
were  both  descendants  of  my  great-grandfather's  long-forgot 
ten  brother.  In  each  of  these  families  there  was  a  son  ;  in  one, 
the  only  son — the  only  child  of  his  mother,  and  she  was  a 
widow.  In  the  other,  there  were  two  daughters,  both 
younger  than  the  son,  and  the  father  and  mother  were  liv 
ing,  the  former  being  an  officer  in  the  United  States  Navy. 
Mr.  Home,  my  uncle's  correspondent,  seemed  really  inter 
ested  in  the  success  of  the  scheme  he  had  suggested,  and 
took  some  pains  to  introduce  the  heirs  expectant,  favorably. 
He  narrated  his  visit  to  both  families  in  a  manner  not  un 
interesting.  There  was  even  something  dramatic  in  his 
introduction  to  them,  which  may  be  presented  thus  : 

Act  I,  Scene  1. — The  playground  of  a  large  school — 
boys  playing  ball — one  immediately  attracts  the  stranger's 
observation  by  the  beauty  of  his  person  and  the  activity 
and  grace  of  his  movements.  This  is  Charles  Moray — the 
widow's  son — the  leader  of  the  school,  both  in  sport  and 
study.  The  stranger  accosts  him,  is  met  with  gentlemanly 
courtesy,  and  conducted  to  his  mother's  house.  Scene  2. 
— The  mother,  a  graceful  woman,  fashionably  and  somewhat 
gaily  attired,  receives  him  graciously,  laments  that  she  can 
give  him  no  information  respecting  her  husband's  family,  as 
he  had  lived  but  a  short  time  after  their  marriage.  She 


20  TWO   PICTURES. 

directs  him,  however,  to  her  brother-in-law's,  Captain  Mo 
ray's.  Captain  Moray  is  absent,  she  adds,  but  his  wife  and 
Hugh  will  be  able  to  tell  him  all  he  wishes  to  know  of  a 
family  in  whom  he  professes  a  warm  interest.  Charles 
Moray  offers  to  be  his  guide  to  the  house  of  his  uncle,  and 
so  Mr.  Home  goes  to — scene  3d:  a  small  house,  the 
door  of  which  is  opened  by  a  young  girl,  whom  Charles 
Moray  accosts  as  cousin  Jane.  She  invites  the  visitors  into 
a  parlor,  neatly,  but  plainly  furnished,  and  having  seen 
them  seated,  goes  to  call  her  mother.  The  mother  enters — 
a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  dark  of  her  hair  broken  by  a 
few  silvery  lines,  with  a  somewhat  careworn  expression  of 
face,  and  a  style  of  dress  whose  Quaker-like  plainness 
presents  a  singular  contrast  to  that  of  Mrs.  Charles  Moray. 
Charlie  Moray,  having  introduced  the  stranger,  asks  for 
Hugh,  and  is  told  that  he  will  find  him  in  his  "  den," — a 
term  explained  to  the  stranger,  as  "  a  name  we  have  given 
to  the  room  appropriated  to  my  son  for  his  studies  and 
sports."  The  mother,  with  somewhat  of  a  mother's  pride, 
bringing  a  sudden  color  into  her  pale  cheeks,  adds  to  this 
explanation  :  "  He  is  just  now  absorbed  in  the  wonders  of 
a  telescope  which  he  has  lately  purchased  for  himself." 

"Purchased  for  himself!"  exclaims  the  blunt  Mr. 
Home,  with  a  sufficiently  significant  glance  at  the  plain  fur 
niture  of  the  room  in  which  he  sits.  The  answer  shows 
that  the  glance  was  understood. 

"  It  has  been  purchased  with  the  savings  of  eight  years, 
made  from  the  sum  allotted  by  his  father  for  his  clothing, 
schooling,  and  all  his  expenditures.  He  begged  to  manage 
this  himself,  and  we  made  no  objections,  for  we  felt  that 
the  habit  of  self-denial  which  he  was  forming,  would  be 
more  valuable  to  him  than  even  his  coveted  telescope." 

"  You  say  he  was  eight  years  in  collecting  the  necessary 
sum — may  I  ask  how  old  he  is  now  1  " 


TWO   PICTURES.  21 

"  Eighteen,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  he  began  his  savings  at  ten." 

"  Yes,  at  ten ;  the  last  year  or  two,  he  has  added  to  them 
by  some  copying  done  in  his  leisure  hours  for  a  friendly 
lawyer." 

Mr.  Home  proposes  a  visit  to  the  den,  and  Mrs.  Moray 
accompanies  him  to  scene — but,  no — I  must  drop  every 
thing  that  savors  of  the  theatrical,  when  speaking  of  one 
who  is  truth  and  simplicity  itself. 

Mr.  Home  ascended,  under  the  guidance  of  Mrs.  Moray, 
to  the  attic,  and  was  ushered  into  a  room  having  one  win 
dow  that  looked  toward  the  west.  He  glanced  around  the 
room  for  some  evidence  of  the  owner's  tastes.  Pictures  in 
water  colors,  without  frames,  decorated  the  walls.  A  ter 
rier  greeted  the  strangers  with  a  sharp  bark  ;  on  being 
silenced,  he  retreated  to  a  corner,  whither  Mr.  Home's  eyes 
following  him,  rested  upon  a  strangely  shaped,  large  tin 
vessel.  Mrs.  Moray  led  the  way  to  it,  saying,  "  Some  of 
my  son's  pets,"  and  looking  in,  Mr.  Home  saw  that  the 
vessel  was  filled  half  with  water  and  half  with  earth, 
making  an  appropriate  abode  for  two  alligators  about  a 
foot  long.  But  at  this  moment,  Hugh,  who  had  been 
arranging  something  about  his  telescope,  turns  and  per 
ceives  the  stranger,  who,  to  use  his  own  words, — they  are 
before  me — "  finds  him  a  sickly  looking,  sallow  faced  lad,  a 
head  taller  than  Charlie,  who  is  only  fifteen,  but  wanting  his 
easy,  graceful,  and  even  polished  manner."  Still,  Mr. 
Home  concludes,  after  some  conversation  with  him,  that  he 
has  unusual  talent,  and  may  be  a  credit  to  his  name,  of 
which  he  is  evidently  very  proud  ;  but  he  thinks  "  he  is 
better  fitted  to  acquire  distinction  in  one  of  the  learned  pro 
fessions,  than  to  play  the  part  of  a  gentleman  of  large, 
landed  estate,  to  whom  great  social  influence  must  neces 
sarily  pertain." 


22  TWO   PICTURES. 

How  strangely  this  letter  stirred  the  quiet  current  of 
our  lives  at  St.  Mary's  !  My  uncle  could  speak  of  little 
else,  and  for  me,  my  sleeping  as  well  as  my  waking  dreams 
were  filled  with  the  sayings  and  doings  of  these  newly 
found  cousins,  who  were  to  combine  all  the  accomplishments 
of  all  my  favorite  heroes.  A  correspondence  was  at  once 
opened  between  my  uncle  and  the  Moray s  of  Elizabeth- 
town,  which  resulted  in  the  promise  that  the  two  boys 
should  pass  the  ensuing  winter  at  St.  Mary's,  whither  they 
would-be  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Charles  Moray. 

Let  me  try  to  recall  what  I  was  then,  eight  years  ago — 
almost  half  my  lifetime.  I  will  try  to  write  of  myself  as  I 
might  of  another,  and  an  indifferent  person.  I  had  some 
gifts  usually  accounted  good.  1  have  no  vanity  to  gratify 
in  naming  them,  even  were  this  paper  intended  for  other 
eyes  than  mine,  for  they  have  proved  themselves  in  my  case, 
of  little  value — they  have  won  for  me  no  love  that  I  desired 
— they  have  shielded  me  .from  no  evil  that  I  dreaded. 

In  the  dining  room  at  St.  Mary's,  hung  a  few  family 
portraits.  Among  them  was  one  of  a  remote  ancestress  of 
my  uncle.  This  picture  went  by  the  name  of  the  Moray 
beauty,  and  had  always  been  greatly  valued  as  presenting 
the  highest  type  of  the  physical  features  of  the  family.  It 
was  probably  for  this  reason  that  my  great-grandfather  had, 
at  much  inconvenience  to  himself,  as  I  have  often  heard  my 
uncle  tell,  brought  it  over  with  him  from  Scotland,  when 
compelled  to  leave  his  paternal  estate.  It  was  a  face  of  the 
purest  Caucasian  lineaments — a  perfect  oval — the  forehead 
broad,  the  eyebrows  delicately  arched,  the  eyes  large,  of  a 
brownish  gray,  and  fringed  by  lashes  of  unusual  length,  the 
nose  straight  and  finely  cut,  the  mouth  exquisitely  formed, 
and  expressive  of  tenderness  and  sensibility.  It  was  the 
common  remark  of  visitors  at  St.  Mary's,  that  this,  allow 
ing  for  the  difference  of  age — the  portrait  represented  a 


TWO   PICTURES.  23 

young  woman  of  twenty  or  thereabouts — might  have  been 
taken  for  me.  An  artist  who  came  to  St.  Mary's  to  take 
a  likeness  of  my  uncle,  said,  "  It  is  very  like,  certainly,  but 
there  are  decided  points  of  difference.  Already  the  pale 
chestnut  of  the  hair  and  eyebrows  in  the  portrait,  has  deep 
ened  in  the  child  into  a  darker  brown  ;  the  position  of  the 
head  is  different,  and  see,  if  you  please,  how  that  slight 
change  affects  the  expression.  In  the  picture,  the  head 
inclines  a  little  to  one  side,  and  the  expression  is  that  of 
innocence  and  gentleness.  In  the  child,  it  is  set  farther 
back,  and  held  remarkably  upright  ;  it  does  not  bend  even 
now,  though  the  color  rises,  and  the  eyes  are  cast  down  with 
girlish  shame — and  pride  is  its  predominant  character." 

Dear  Mr.  Mortimer  !  to  you,  at  least,  I  gave  satisfac 
tion  ;  from  you  I  never  heard  the  accents  of  blame.  But 
Mr.  Mortimer,  kind  and  judicious  as  he  was,  could  not 
supply  to  the  poor  orphan  a  mother's  vigilant  and  tender 
training.  Charity  might  have  done  more  for  me  in  the  cul 
tivation  of  the  heart,  but  my  poor  Charity  thought  all  I  did, 
was  "  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best."  My  temper  was 
— ah  !  I  fear  I  should  say,  is — unsubdued,  my  impulses 
uncontrolled.  I  had  great  faults  of  which  I  thought  little, 
while  I  prided  myself  on  my  truthfulness,  and  on  the 
absence  from  my  character  of  what  was  mean  or  selfish. 
Wild  as  an  untamed  colt,  my  association  with  a  punctilious 
gentleman,  such  as  my  uncle,  could  not  fail  to  awake  in  me 
some  perception  of  the  proprieties,  and  even  of  the  courte 
sies  of  life.  My  movements  were  perfectly  untutored.  I 
walked  or  ran,  talked  or  was  silent,  sat  on  the  floor  or  the 
window  sill,  was  gentle  or  brusque,  according  to  the  humor 
of  the  hour.  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  I  remember,  pronounced 
me  "  a  little  savage," — but  that  is  anticipating.  Back, 
Memory,  to  the  day  and  the  hour !  bring  up  from  the  grave 

of  the  past,  that  morning,  big  with  so  much  of  woe,  yet 
2 


24  TWO    PICTURES. 

rising  "  so  calm,  so  still,  so  bright,"  like  George  Herbert's 
"  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky  ! "  My  uncle  had  gone  to 
Savannah  to  meet  his  stranger  kindred.  Mr.  Mortimer  had 
received  a  letter  from  him  the  evening  before,  announcing 
their  arrival,  and  requesting  to  have  a  boat  sent  to  a  point 
on  the  mainland,  eight  miles  distant,  to  meet  them  this  day, 
on  the  arrival  of  the  stage  coach.  I  stood  with  Charity,  in 
the  early  morning,  under  the  great  oak  whose  boughs  over 
hung  the  landing  place,  as  the  men  pushed  off  the  boat  and 
rowed  away,  the  wind  being  too  light  for  a  sail.  "What  a 
pretty  picture,  the  whole  scene,  as  I  remember  it,  would 
make — I  will  paint  it  some  day — the  great  overhanging  oak 
with  its  trailing  moss,  the  child  with  her  unshadowed  face, 
full  at  that  moment  of  gay  fancies  and  but  half  defined 
hopes,  the  old  nurse  at  her  side  with  her  shining  black  face, 
surmounted  by  a  handkerchief  of  gay  colors,  wound  in  tur 
ban  fashion  around  her  head,  and  the  black  boatmen  with 
their  red  flannel  shirts,  and  pantaloons  made  of  a  coarse 
dark  blue  cloth,  called  by  the  planters,  negro  cloth. 

I  stood  on  the  same  spot  in  the  evening,  with  Mr.  Mor 
timer,  to  receive  the  expected  guests.  I  had  been  pleas 
antly  excited  during  the  day,  for  I  had  been  helping  Charity 
to  prepare  their  rooms.  When  I  afterward  saw  Mrs. 
Charles  Moray's  room  at  her  own  house,  with  its  rosewood 
and  canopied  bedstead,  its  lace  curtains,  its  velvet  carpet, 
and  brocade  covered  couch  and  lounging  chairs,  I  remem 
bered  with  a  smile,  that  prepared  for  her  at  St.  Mary's — 
the  bedstead  with  tall  posts  and  faded  chintz  curtains,  the 
chintz  curtained  windows,  the  ingrain  carpet,  the  pattern  of 
which  was  blurred  with  frequent  darns,  and  the  old  inlaid 
bureau  with  its  mirror,  from  both  of  which  the  once  rich 
gilding  had  been  well-nigh  effaced.  Even  Mrs.  Moray, 
however,  I  remember,  admired  the  antique  china  vases  on 
the  mantlepiece,  and  ths  fragrant  flowers  that  filled  them. 


TWO    PICTURES.  25 

In  the  room  appropriated  to  her  son  and  nephew,  there  was 
not  even  an  attempt  at  ornament,  nothing  to  redeem  its 
rudeness  and  bareness,  except  perfect  cleanliness,  the  finest 
and  whitest  of  bed  linen  and  napkins — the  last  supplied 
with  an  abundance  which  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  re 
member  regretfully,  in  more  ostentatious  homes. 

Such  as  the  preparations  were,  they  had  occupied 
Charity  and  me  through  the  whole  day.  The  floors  had 
been  made  white  as  a  curd,  the  small  panes  of  glass  were 
clear  from  spot,  and  the  dark  mahogany  furniture  glistened 
with  wax  and  hard  rubbing.  It  was  five  o'clock,  and  the 
season  being  now  late  in  November,  the  sun  was  near  its 
setting,  when  Mr.  Mortimer  came  for  me.  He  considered 
it  an  act  of  respect  due  to  my  uncle's  guests,  to  meet  them 
on  their  landing,  and  the  boat  was  now  in  sight. 

"  But  you  are  not  dressed,  my  child,"  he  said. 

"  Must  I  dress,  sir  1 "  I  asked  as,  my  thoughts  thus 
directed  to  myself,  I  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  some- 
thing  like  timidity  stealing  over  me,  and  the  question 
"  How  will  they  like  me?  "  arose  in  my  mind.  The  feeling 
thus  excited  was  not  allayed  by  Mr.  Mortimer's  answer. 

"  Oh',  yes  !  you  must  be  dressed,  my  dear.  You  do  not 
know  the  importance  of  first  impressions — I  wonder  Charity 
did  not  think  of  it  before." 

"  Charity  was  not  to  blame,"  I  answered,  quickly ; 
"  she  wanted  me  to  dress,  but  I  was  so  busy." 

Mr.  Mortimer's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile  as  he  repeated, 
"  On  hospitable  thought  intent ;  but  go  quickly,  my  child, 
you  have  no  time  to  spare — you  must  go  down  with  me." 

My  toilette  was  easily  made.  I  had  no  embarras  des 
richesses  in  the  way  of  dresses.  To  smooth  the  abundant 
ringlets  that  fell  nearly  to  my  waist,  to  exchange  the  blue 
merino  dress  I  wore  for  a  crimson  of  the  same  material, 
made  by  Charity  precisely  after  the  same  pattern  as  those 


20  TWO    PICTURES. 

worn  by  the  little  negroes  on  the  plantation — a  straight 
tight  waist,  low  in  the  neck,  and  with  short  sleeves — to  add 
to  this  a  coat  or  pelisse  of  dark  red  cloth — grown  some 
what  short  in  the  waist  and  sleeves,  since  the  previous  win< 
ter — and  to  take  my  Sunday  straw  bonnet  in  my  hand, 
dangling  it  by  its  long  ribbon  strings,  and  solemnly  promis 
ing  Charity  to  put  it  on  before  I  should  meet  the  strangers 
— this  was  all  my  preparation. 

Mr.  Mortimer  and  I  stood  where  Charity  and  I  had 
stood  in  the  morning,  watching  the  approaching  boat.  I 
remember  he  looked  down  on  me  and  said,  "  What  is  the 
matter  that  you  look  so  pale  arid  breathe  so  quick  1  Are 
you  frightened  ?  " 

I  did  not  like  the  word  "  frightened,"  and  answered 
stoutly,  "  No,"  making  a  great  effort  at  the  same  time  to 
control  or  conceal  the  agitation  which  I  did  not  understand. 

Till  Mr.  Mortimer's  evident  anxiety  respecting  the 
first  impression  I  should  make  upon  my  cousins,  had  aroused 
a  doubt  of  my  acceptance  with  them,  I  did  not  know  how  con 
fidently  I  rested  on  their  affection,  or  what  joyous  anticipa 
tions  were  connected  with  it.  The  calm,  gentle  regard  of 
Mr.  Mortimer,  the  devotion  of  Charity,  these  were  all  I  had 
known  of  love.  I  had  never  seen  another  white  child.  I 
had  loved  my  flowers  and  my  pets,  my  old  nurse  and  my 
tutor,  the  last  perhaps  more  than  he  had  loved  me.  I 
would  have  loved  my  uncle — oh,  how  dearly  ! — if  he  had 
not  repulsed  me  so  often,  but  I  knew  even  then,  that  there 
was  love  very  different  from  all  these — love  which  I  was 
ready  to  bestow — love  which  I  thirsted  to  receive.  The 
poor,  simple,  child-heart,  how  full  it  had  been  of  imaginings 
since  the  discovery  of  these  stranger  cousins  !  How  often 
in  fancy  I  had  played  with  the  gay  Charlie,  or  stood  by  the 
graver  Hugh,  while  he  arranged  his  telescope  and  permitted 
me  to  take  a* peep  through  it  at  the  starry  heavens,  and 


TWO    PICTURES.  27 

with  a  tender  feeling — a  feeling  that  made  the  tears  start 
to  my  eyes,  I  knew  not  why — had  rested  in  the  arms,  and 
laid  my  head  upon  the  bosom  of  the  lady,  whom  I  pictured 
to  myself  as  having  Charity's  heart,  within  a  form  of  beauty 
and  grace  !  And  now  they  were  coming,  and  the  thought 
had  suddenly  been  awakened,  that  I  might' not  please  them ; 
that  all  this  wealth  of  love  and  joy  would  be  brought  near 
me,  would  touch  my  very  lip,  but  that,  Tantalus-like,  I 
must  not  drink  of  it.  It  was  no  wonder  that  my  breath 
came  quick,  that  my  color  varied,  that  I  trembled. 

But  the  boat  approached  the  wharf,  the  boys  sprang  on 
shore,  and  Mr.  Mortimer  led  me  forward.  My  uncle 
handed  Mrs.  Moray  from  the  boat,  and  after  he  had  shaken 
hands  with  Mr.  Mortimer,  who  seemed  to  divine  that  I  had 
some  thought  of  running  away,  and  consequently  held  me 
fast,  he  presented  me  to  the  lady  and  to  her  young  com 
panions  as  his  niece,  Augusta  Moray. 

"  Augusta  Moray  !  what  a  noble  name,  and  what  a 
noble  looking  creature  she  is — positively  beautiful!"  and 
the  lady  kissed  me,  saying,  as  she  lifted  her  graceful  head 
again,  "  Charles  !  here  is  your  cousin  Augusta — come,  speak 
to  her— Hugh  !  " 

Charlie  came  forward  easily,  held  out  his  hand  with  a 
smile,  and  greeted  me  in  a  pleasant,  frank  way,  as  if  he  had 
known  me  all  his  life,  or,  at  least,  all  mine.  Hugh  turned 
at  his  aunt's  call,  but  nothing  further  being  said,  he  only 
bowed  to  me,  and  stood  waiting  for  further  directions. 
Will  it  be  believed  this  grave,  reserved  youth  pleased  me 
better  than  the  graceful,  suave  lady,  or  the  ready  Charlie  ? 
A  genuine,  inartificial  child  stands  ever  in  the  palace  of 
Truth.  I  am  convinced  that  at  the  age  to  which  I  now 
refer,  I  knew  instinctively  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  those 
who  approached  me ;  not  that  I  recognized  those  as  the 
qualities  which  depressed  and  chilled  me  with  some,  or 


28  T\VO   PICTUKES. 

gave  me,  with  others,  a  pleasant  feeling  of  satisfaction  and 
repose.  Now,  I  almost  shrank  from  the  touch  of  Mrs. 
Charles  Moray's  lips — I  drew  my  head  proudly  up  as 
Charles  spoke  to  me — but  as  my  eyes  met  Hugh's,  they 
softened,  and,  had  he  given  me  the  least  encouragement,  I 
should  have  gone  up  to  him,  taken  his  hand,  and  walked  to 
the  house  with  him.  But  he  did  not  encourage  me,  and 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray  drawing  me  to  her,  made  me  walk 
with  her,  and  called  Charlie  to  my  other  side.  My  uncle 
busied  himself  with  seeing  to  the  safety  of  the  baggage,  and 
sending  it  up,  and  Hugh  and  Mr.  Mortimer  walked  on  a 
little  before  us.  We  were  followed  by  Mrs.  Moray's  maid. 
As  I  had  never  seen  one  of  my  own  color  occupying  a 
menial  station,  1  did  not  at  all  understand  the  position  of 
this  very  respectable  looking  young  woman,  and  was  pain 
fully  embarrassed  at  the  remembrance  that  not  a  word  of 
welcome  had  been  addressed  to  her.  Mrs.  Moray,  at 
length,  noticed  my  backward  glances. 

"  Do  you  want  your  uncle,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  ma'am — but — if  you  please — no  one  has  spoken  to 
the  lady." 

I  spoke  with  hesitation,  directing  the  last  epithet  by  a 
glance  to  the  girl.  Looking  back  too  quickly,  I  caught  the 
exchange  of  glances  between  Charles  and  his  mother,  and 
the  smiles  which  had  not  yet  quite  died  from  their  lips. 

"  Do  not  disturb  yourself  about  her,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs,  Moray ;  "  it  is  only  my  maid." 

My  uncle  came  up  and  addressed  some  observations  to 
Mrs.  Moray.  She  was  immediately  all  attention  to  him, 
;iiid  slipping  my  hand  out  of  hers,  I  went  quickly  up  to  Mr. 
Mortimer,  placed  my  hand  in  his,  and  walked  along  on  the 
opposite  side  from  Hugh.  They  were  speaking  of  his  home. 

"Did  you  bring  your  telescope?"  I  ventured,  to  ask, 
with  a  beating  heart. 


TWO    PICTURES.  '^J 

lie  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  his  face,  sombre  hith 
erto  in  its  expression,  was  lit  up  by  a  bright,  cordial  smile? 
as  he  answered,  "  No  ! — I  could  not  bring  it ;  but  how  did 
you  hear  of  my  telescope  ?  '' 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Home  wrote  my  uncle  about  it.  I  ain  so 
sorry  you  did  not  bring  it." 

"  Why  are  you  sorry  1 " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  it,  and  I  thought,  may  be,  you  would 
let  me  look  at  the  stars  through  it,  and  then  Air.  Mortimer 
said  I  should  learn  something  about  astronomy." 

"  Then  indeed  I  am  very  sorry,  for  I  should  have  liked 
to  learn  too  from  Mr.  Mortimer,  if  he  would  have  permitted 
me." 

"  Oh  !  you  would,  sir — wouldn't  you  ?  "  I  cried,  eagerly, 
to  Mr.  Mortimer.  My  heart  was  t>n  my  lips,  for  I  felt  that 
here  was  a  small  portion  of  the  rich  feast  which  imagination 
had  presented  to  me,  that  might  indeed  be  mine,  and  I 
longed  to  secure  it. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  with  a  smile 
at  my  earnestness.  "  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure — and 
perhaps  the  telescope  may  be  supplied — I  cannot  promise, 
but  I  think  it  may." 

I  clapped  my  hands  with  delight. 

"  What  pleases  you  so  much,  ma  cousine  ? "  asked 
Charlie,  coming  up  to  us.  Pie  had  a  habit,  as  I  afterward 
found,  of  using  French  words  and  phrases.  His  voice 
sobered  me  instantly,  and  I  left  Mr.  Mortimer  to  explain 
the  source  of  my  pleasure. 

"  Will  you  join  us,  Charlie  1 "  asked  Hugh. 

Charlie  laughed  gaily,  and  shook  his  head  as  he  said,  "  I 
hope  neither  Mr.  Mortimer  nor  my  petite  cousine  here  will 
think  very  badly  of  me,  if  I  acknowledge  that  I  should 
like  a  little  holiday  first ;  "  then,  turning  to  Mr.  Mor 
timer,  he  added,  "  I  cannot  be  such  a  very  good  boy  as 


30  TWO   PICTURES. 

Hugh,  sir ;  my  mother  says  my  motto  should  be,  '  Vive  la 
bagatelle  ! ' " 

Mr.  Mortimer,  ever  gentle  to  the  young,  did  not  answer 
Charlie  by  lecturing.  "  The  bagatelle  will  not  always 
charm,"  he  said  gently ;  "  when  you  grow  tired  of  it,  \ve 
shall  be  glad  to  have  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  you  are  very  kind,"  said  Charlie,  and 
Hugh  added,  "  Charlie  has  had  more  opportunity  to  study 
than  I  have  had,  sir — that  will  account  for  his  liking  play 
better." 

And  I  liked  Charlie  better  in  this  conversation.  I  felt 
he  had  been  true. 

If  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  missed  the  elegancies  of  her 
home,  we  were,  happily,  too  ignorant  to  dream  of  such  a 
feeling,  and  she  was  too  'courteous  to  manifest  it ;  but  the 
poor  girl  who  had  come  as  her  attendant  to  a  land  in  which 
the  laboring  class  is  separated  from  all  others  by  natural 
distinctions :  holding  herself  superior  to  the  one  caste,  and 
held  inferior  to  the  other,  led  a  life  so  lonely  and  so  di 
vorced  from  sympathy,  that  it  touched  the  compassionate 
heart  of  my  kind  Charity. 

"  Poor  ting  !  poor  ting  !  "  I  heard  her  say  one  day,  with 
a  sad  shake  of  her  head,  as  Alice  passed  the  window. 

"  Why  do  you  call  her  so,  Charity  1 "  I  asked.  "  What 
makes  you  say  '  poor  thing  ?  ' ' 

"  'Cause  you  see,  Miss  'Gusty,  him  is  poor,  an'  I  tink 
poor  buckra  is  worse  off  an'  we." 

"  But  why,  Charity  ?  Alice  is  a  lady's  maid  ;  her  work 
is  not  hard  ;  you  work  harder  than  she  doeSi" 

"  I  know,  Miss  'Gusty  ;  but  den  you  see  we  was  make 
for  work  ;  it  comes  sort  o'  nat'ral,  an'  people  doesn't  look 
down  on  we ;  we  jist  as  much  respected,  you  know,  as  ef 
we  didn't  work,  an'  more ;  nobody  tinks  much  o'  a  lazy 
person  o'  color ;  but  tain't  so  wid  a  poor  buckra,  more 


TWO    PICTURES.  31 

pertickler  where  there  ain't  no  other  poor  buckra  to  keep 
company  with  'em — for  we  don't  like  to  'mean  ourselves  to 
'sociate  with  'em,  nohow ;  an'  so,  the  poor  tings  ain't  got 
no  companion ;  but  don't  you  tink,  Miss  'Gusty,  may  be  de 
obershay  an'  he  wife  would  like  Miss  Alice  ?  " 

Upon  this  hint  I  acted.  That  very  afternoon  I  obtained 
permission  from  Mrs.  Moray,  on  the  plea  that  Charity  was 
busy,  for  Alice  to  accompany  me  in  a  walk,  and,  going  to 
the  overseer's  house,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  quite 
at  home  before  the  visit  was  over. 

In  the  meantime,  my  acquaintance  with  my  new  rela 
tions  progressed  pleasantly  enough.  To  Mrs.  Moray  I  was 
a  darling,  a  beauty,  a  sweet  pet, — and  yet,  strange  to  say,  the 
lady  did  not  win  my  favor.  I  liked  her  flattery  ;  under  its 
warm  rays,  some  traits  of  character  which  I  had  not  yet 
exhibited,  were  rapidly  developed ;  and  yet,  I  did  not  like 
her.  Why  was  this,  I  wonder.  I  think  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  very  sound  of  her  voice,  that  did  not  ring  true 
to  my  ear.  But  some  of  her  conversations  with  me  may 
suggest  a  better  explanation  of  the  mystery.  Let  me  try 
to  recall  one : 

"  My  darling  beauty  !  how  they  have  neglected  you ! 
Just  see,  Alice,  that  dress  is  really  made  of  very  pretty 
Thibet,  fine,  and  a  good  color,  though  I  should  not  chyose 
so  deep  a  crimson  for  her,  myself;  but  only  see  how  it  is 
made !  a  straight  jacket  for  the  waist,  and  the  skirt  dangling 
to  her  heels.  I  wonder  how  she  ever  learned  to  walk  so 
freely  and  gracefully.  Positively,  Alice,  you  must  set  to 
work,  and  remodel  all  her  dresses.  Good  woman,"  to 
Charity,  who  was  with  me  as  usual,  "just  give  Alice  all 
Miss  Augusta's  dresses,  and  let  her  see  what  can  be  done 
with  them." 

"  Yes.  ma'am,"  Charity  answered,  and  was  turning  away 
to  obey  the  command,  but  I  had  heard  the  quiver  in  her 


32  TWO   PICTURES. 

voice,  and  seen  the  moisture  in  her  eye,  and  I  flew  to  her, 
and  casting  to  the  winds  all  the  compliments  to  my  beauty 
and  my  grace,  cried  almost  fiercely,  "  I  don't  care  what 
you  think  about  my  clothes,  I  want  them  just  as  Charity 
made  them.  I  won't  have  them  altered — Alice  shall  not 
touch  them." 

I  caught  the  slight  shrug  of  Mrs.  Moray's  pretty  shoul 
ders,  and  the  arch  of  her  brows  as  she  turned  to  leave  the 
room,  without  a  word.  Had  she  answered  me,  I  might 
have  remained  firm  ;  but  this  silence,  this  waving  me  aside 
from  her  path,  as  it  Avere,  made  me  feel  at  once  the  dis 
tance  between  the  accomplished  lady  and  the  untutored 
child.  She  had  seemed  to  mean  me  a  kindness — her  words 
had  been  very  gracious,  and  I  had  met  them  with  rudeness, — 
I  blushed  and  hung  my  head,  while  hot  tears,  half  of  passion 
and  half  of  shame,  wet  my  checks.  Yet  I  could  not  ask  her 
pardon.  I  felt  shame  for  my  own  want  of  self-control,  not 
regret  for  having  offended  her.  Her  contempt  crushed  my 
pride,  but  wounded  no  affection.  Charity  saw  my  trouble, 
and  hastened  to  say  for  me  what  I  could  not  or  would  not 
say  for  myself.  Mrs.  Moray  had  not  advanced  two  steps, 
when  she  arrested  her,  placing  herself  in  her  path,  courtesy- 
ing  humbly,  and  saying  deprccatingly,  "Please,  ma'am, 
don,'t  go.  You  see,  ma'am,  the  poor  chile  a'n't  used  to 
strangers — 'specially  to  great  ladies,  like  you,  ma'am — " 
Charity  understood  the  uses  of  flattery — "An'  she  didn't 
mean  nothing,  ma'am,  please — she  jist  was  a  thinking  o' 
poor  Charity,  an'  she  was  afeard,  ma'am,  I  might  feel  bad, 
'cause  I  made  the  dresses,  ma'am,  an'  so  she  forgot  who  she 
was  talkin'  to  ;  but  please,  ma'am,  I'll  be  so  glad  cf  you  an' 
Miss  Alice  will  only  show  me  how  to  make  the  frocks, 
ma'am." 

Mrs.  Moray — let  me  do  her  justice — has  a  placable 
temper.  She  was  quite  mollified  before  Charity  had  reached 


TWO    PICTURES.  33 

the  conclusion  of  her  appeal.  Drawing  me  to  her  side,  she 
touched  my  still  wet  and  burning  cheek  with  her  cool  lips, 
saying,  "Poor  little  beauty  !  did  she  think  I  was  disrespect 
ful  to  Charity  ?  Why,  I  think  Charity  the  best  mammy  in 
the  world,  and  so,  worth  a  dozen  French  dressmakers ; 
but  now  Alice  and  I  will  set  to  work  on  your  wardrobe, 
and  you  shall  see  what  a  metamorphosis  will  ensue — you 
will  scarcely  know  yourself." 

She  did  not  promise  more  than  she  performed. 

I  was  a  little  awkward  in  my  new  trappings  at  first^ 
especially  after  hearing  Air.  Mortimer  exclaim,  "  The  but- 
terfly  has  burst  from  the  chrysalis ;  "  but  my  uncle  was 
delighted  at  the  change,  and  I  soon  caught  somewhat  of  his 
satisfaction. 

When  Alice'  had  finished  the  first  suit — and  it  was  com- 
plete,  from  the  frilled  pantalets,  to  the  dress  with  its 
flounced  skirt  and  low  neck  and  short  sleeves,  exposing  the 
white  shoulders  and  rounded  arms — Mrs.  Moray  dressed 
me  herself,  brushing  my  curls  back  from  my  forehead,  and 
so  giving  a  new  character  to  the  childish  face  beneath  them  ; 
then  she  led  me  into  the  library  to  my  uncle.  If  there  was 
any  one  in  the  world  of  whose  admiration  I  was  covetous,  it 
was  he.  As  the  natural  result  of  this  desire,  I  entered,  blush 
ing,  and  looking  foolish  and  awkward  enough,  I  doubt  not. 
Yet  my  uncle  was  pleased,  and  looking  at  me  with  a  gentler 
smile  than  his  face  ordinarily  wore  to  me,  he  said,  "  She 
certainly  is  like  that  old  portrait ;  I  never  saw  the  likeness 
so  strongly  before ;  but  why  do  you  blush  so,  child  ?  If 
you  had  the  pride  that  becomes  your  name,  dress  would 
not  discompose  you." 

"  So  I  think,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Moray,  catching  his  tone  in 
an  instant.  "  Miss  Moray  should  be  always  well  dressed, 
but  if  by  any  accident  she  is  otherwise — what  then  ?  She  is 
still  Miss  Moray." 


34:  TWO   PICTUIJES. 

"  Very  true,  madam,"  said  my  uncle,  gravely ;  u  you 
have  expressed  my  thought  better  than  I  could  have  done 
myself." 

And  so  the  best  cure  that  my  uncle  knew  for  the  vanity 
that  was  shadowing  the  child's  unconscious  grace,  was 
pride  !  This  was  setting  one  disease  to  drive  out  another 
— one  demon  to  overthrow  another  ;  and  it  was  successful. 
I  no  longer  simpered,  and  if  I  could  not  altogether  refrain 
from  blushing,  I  felt  provoked  with  myself  for  it,  consider 
ing  it  a  weakness  unworthy  of  Miss  Moray.  Perhaps  I 
recovered  my  equanimity  the  sooner,  from  finding  that  my 
dress  did  not  recommend  me  to  every  one.  Charlie,  on 
first  seeing  me  in  my  butterfly  state,  exclaimed,  "  Why, 
Miss  'Gusty  !  " — he  delighted  to  teaze  me  by  using  the  name 
adopted  by  the  blacks,  for  the  high  sounding  Augusta — 
"  How  improved  you  are  !  Ma  cousine,  vous  etes  tout-a-fait 
belief 

"  Charlie,  how  ridiculous  you  make  yourself  with  your 
parade  of  French  !  "  cried  Hugh,  in  a  testy  tone. 

"  Well !  it's  true,  if  it  is  French,"  replied  Charlie. 

"  It  is  not  true,"  returned  Hugh,  with  increasing  dis 
composure.  "  I  don't  believe  any  one  was  ever  perfectly 
beautiful — I  don't  even  think  she  is  improved  ;  for  my 
part,  I  like  to  see  a  little  girl  look  like  a  little  girl." 

We  were  standing  near  the  library  door.  The  boys 
had  just  come  in  from  a  hunt  with  my  uncle,  and  were 
going  to  their  rooms  to  dress  for  dinner,  when  they  were  ar 
rested  by  my  appearance.  They  now  passed  on,  and  I  shrank 
into  the  library,  mortified  and  depressed.  Twenty  minutes 
after,  Hugh,  whose  toilette  was  always  quickly  made,  camo 
in  to  look  for  a  book.  He  found  me  resting  my  head  upon 
a  table,  and  sobbing  violently.  Seating  himself  beside  me, 
he  lifted  my  tear-stained  fad6,  and  insisted  on  knowing  what 
was  the  matter. 


TWO   PICTURES.  35 

"  Let  me  alone !  "  I  exclaimed,  struggling  in  vain  to 
escape  from  him ;  "  let  me  alone  !  you  know  you  don't  care 
a  bit  for  me." 

"  I  don't  care  for  you  !  You  don't  know  anything  about 
it ;  I  love  you  as  if  you  were  my  own  little  sister." 

"  But  you  told  Charlie  I  wasn't  beautiful,"  I  sobbed 
out. 

"  Oh  !  that's  it,  is  it  ?  You  are  crying  because  you  are 
not  thought  perfectly  beautiful." 

I  felt  the  arm  with  which  Hugh  was  clasping  me  to  his 
side,  slackening  its  grasp. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  I  am  beautiful  or  not,"  I  an 
swered,  quickly,  and  a  little  hypocritically,  I  fear ;  "  but  I 
do  care  to  be  loved,  and  when  we  love  people,  we  think 
they  are  beautiful." 

"  We  do  ? — well,  I  don't,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  smile  in 
his  voice.  "  I  love  both  my  sisters,  and  one  of  them  is  not 
in  the  least  beautiful." 

"  But  your  mother  is  beautiful — I  heard  you  say  so," 
I  rejoined. 

"  And  you  want  me  to  love  you  as  I  love  my 
mother  1  " 

Hugh  laughed,  and  so  quickly  are  the  tears  of  childhood 
dried,  that  I  laughed  with  him. 

"  I  cannot  promise  to  do  that,"  he  continued,  playfully, 
"  but  I  love  you  quite  as  much  as  you  can  wish  me  to  do, 
as  my  own  darling  little  cousin,  whom  I  would  not  exchange 
for  any  other,  though  the  other  were  twice  as  beautiful," 
and  Hugh  bent  down  and  kissed  me  very  tenderly.  My 
cheek  did  not  burn  then  to  receive  his  kiss,  as  it  does  now 
to  remember  it.  It  was  his  first  kiss — the  first  kiss,  except 
Charity's,  that  had  ever  seemed  to  me  to  have  love  in  it. 

I  was  very  happy.  I  longed  to  do  something  for  Hugh, 
and  I  whispered,  softly,  "  Hugh,  if  you  would  like  me  bet- 


36  TWO   PICTURES. 

tor  in  my  old  frocks,  I  won't  have  any  more  altered,  and 
I'll  take  off  this,  and  put  on  one  they  have  not  touched." 

Again  Hugh  lifted  my  downcast  face  and  kissed  me. 

"  My  dear  little  cousin,"  he  said,  "  your  dresses  do  not 
make  the  least  difference  in  my  love.  I  dare  say  I  shall  like 
this  dress  best  when  I  have  become  accustomed  to  it.  The 
truth  is,  I  believe  I  was  a  little  cross  when  I  said  what  dis 
tressed  you." 

As  he  said  this,  Hugh's  face  was  very  grave,  though  full 
of  interest  and  affection. 

"  What  made  you  cross,  Hugh  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Because  I  was  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  they  were  going 
to  spoil  my  simple-hearted  little  cousin,  and  to  make  her 
like  some  of  the  foolish,  vain  girls  I  have  seen  at  my  Aunt 
Moray's,  who  think  more  of  their  sashes  and  curls  than  of 
anything  else  in  the  world." 

"  But  I  won't  do  that,  Hugh,  because  my  uncle  says 
dress  cannot  make  any  difference  to  Miss  Moray." 

"  So — so — "  said  Hugh,  softly,  "  call  in  pride  to  kill 
vanity.  Well — it  is  the  more  respectable  of  the  two  ;  but, 
Augusta,"  here  Hugh  turned  again  to  me,  the  first  part  of 
his  sentence  having  been  in  soliloquy,  "  do  you  ever  read 
the  Bible  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  I  answered,  "  with  Mr.  Mortimer,  and 
on  Sundays." 

"  There  are  two  verses  in  it,  which  I  want  you  to  learn 
for  me  ;  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Hugh  !  " 

I  was  glad  he  had  asked  me  to  do  something  for  him. 
He  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  large  Bible  on  the  table,  till 
he  found  the  First  Epistle  of  Peter,  third  chapter,  and  third 
and  fourth  verses,  and  read  :  "  Whose  adorning,  let  it  not 
be  that  outward  adorning  of  plaiting  the  hair,  and  of  wear 
ing  of  gold,  or  of  putting  on  of  apparel ;  but,  let  it  be  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  37 

hidden  man  of  the  heart  in  that  which  is  not  corruptible, 
even  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,  which  is  in 
the  sight  of  God  of  great  price." 

I J  aving  read  it  over  with  me,  and  made  me  read  it  my 
self  to  him,  he  was  leaving  me  to  learn  it,  but  the  tender 
conscience  of  the  child  was  touched,  and  drawing  him  back, 
I  asked,  "  Hugh,  is  it  wrong  to  wear  this  ?  "  showing,  as  I 
spoke,  a  small  camao  pin  which  Mrs.  Moray  had  stuck  in 
my  dress. 

"  No,  dear — not  wrong  to  wear  them,  but  wrong  to 
make  them  your  adornments — the  things  for  which  you 
value  yourself." 

Hugh  left  me  very  happy.  I  learned  the  verses,  and 
when  I  recited  them  to  him  that  evening,  he  made  mo 
promise  that  I  would  repeat  them  whenever  I  was  dressed. 
I  keep  the  promise  even  to  this  hour.  Sweet  memories  ! 
Ah  !  who  would  not  be  a  child  again  1 

As  the  hours  of  that  winter  pass  before  me,  there  are 
few  salient  points  on  which  memory  may  rest,  few  promi 
nent  traits  to  sketch  into  my  picture ;  yet  how  surely  was 
my  life  acquiring  new  tone  and  coloring.  My  sky  was  be 
coming  more  picturesque,  its  blue  expanse  being  shadowed 
now  and  then  by  floating  clouds,  and  far  away,  in  the  distant 
horizon,  a  far  seeing  eye  might  have  espied  one  rising,  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  yet  inspiring  fear  by  the  depth 
of  its  hue,  and  its  steady,  though  not  rapid  approach. 

My  uncle  had  purchased  a  telescope  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Mortimer,  who  spent  many  a  clear  evening  upon  the  bal 
cony  with  Hugh  and  Charlie  and  me,  pointing  out  the  dif 
ferent  constellations,  and  giving  names  to  those  "  bright 
particular  stars,"  which  most  attracted  our  admiration.  To 
Hugh,  this  was  the  most  delightful  relaxation  after  intense 
study,  for  he  soon  drew  Mr.  Mortimer  far  beyond  what  he 
had  originally  intended,  by  his  offer  of  instruction  in  astro. 


38  TWO   PICTURES. 

nomical  science.  The  mere  elements  of  astronomy  were  all 
that  I  could  understand,  all  that  Charlie  cared  for ;  but  Hugh 
plunged  at  once  into  a  deep  sea,  which  we  had  no  line  to 
sound,  and  where  even  Mr.  Mortimer,  I  sometimes  thought, 
was  upheld  by  the  buoyancy  of  his  companion. 

Looking  into  the  library  one  morning,  and  finding  both 
Mr.  Mortimer  and  Hugh  absorbed  in  the  calculation  of 
some  abstruse  mathematical  problem,  jny  uncle  exclaimed, 
"  Come,  come,  Hugh !  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack 
a  dull  boy.  The  old  Morays  were  soldiers,  not  book 
worms.  Your  horse  is  at  the  door,  and  this  is  just  the 
morning  for  a  hunt." 

I  knew  that  Hugh  loved  a  canter  over  the  breezy  savan 
nas,  and  that  the  excitement  of  a  deer  hunt  to  him,  who 
had  known  little  of  the  free  joyousncss  of  youth  till  he  came 
to  St.  Mary's,  was  a  source  of  the  keenest  delight.  I  lifted 
my  eyes  from  the  book  I  was  studying  in  the  corner,  and 
fixed  them  on  his  face.  His  usually  sallow  cheek  was 
glowing,  the  eyes  he  raised  to  my  uncle's  face  were 
sparkling  with  pleasure,  as  he  half  rose  from  his  chair  ;  but 
he  seated  himself  again,  the  sparkle  died  out,  the  color 
faded,  and  he  said,  "  I  believe,  sir,  it  will  be  more  in  the 
spirit  of  the  old  Morays  to  stay  till  I  have  conquered  this 
dragon  of  a  problem.  They  never  left  a  foe  but  half  sub 
dued — did  they,  sir  1 " 

My  uncle  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  No  !  I  think  not;  " 
then  added,  "  but,  Hugh,  this  visit  to  the  South  was  in 
tended  for  a  holiday.  Charlie  is  enjoying  it  thoroughly, 
while  you  are  sitting  in  a  confined  room,  and  studying  as  if 
you  were  at  school.  Are  you  so  dull  always  ?  Do  you 
not  like  such  manly  sports  as  riding  and  hunting  1 " 

"  Oh  dearly,  sir  i — dearly  !  and  I  am  not  dull ;  but 
Charlie  am  go  to  school  again  when  he  goes  home,  and  I — • 
I—" 


TWO   PICTURES.  39 

Hugh  had  spoken  with  fluency  and  animation,  but  at 
this  point,  he  stopped  suddenly,  and  his  eyes  fell. 

"  Well !  "  cried  my  uncle,  after  waiting  some  seconds 
in  vain  for  the  continuance  of  his  explanation,  "  you — " 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  go  to  school  again,"  Hugh  con 
cluded,  in  an  indifferent,  matter  of  fact  way,  very  unlike 
the  impulsive,  animated  manner  in  which  he  had  com 
menced. 

"  And  why  will  you  not  go  to  school  again  1 " 

Again  Hugh  reddened,  but  even  I,  child  as  I  was,  could 
see  that  the  color  came  from  a  different  feeling  from  that 
which  had  lately  flushed  his  cheek,  and  sparkled  in  his  eye. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  answered,  simply,  "  For  several 
reasons,  sir." 

My  uncle  looked  hard  at  him,  but  left  the  room  without 
another  word.  The  next  minute,  he  and  Charlie  rode  by 
in  a  brisk  canter,  with  the  hounds  barking  in  a  glad  chorus 
around  them.  Hugh  followed  them  for  one  moment  with 
his  eyes,  and  then  I  heard  a  suppressed  sigh,  as  he  turned 
again  to  his  calculations.  I  slipped  from  my  chair,  and 
approached  to  offer  such  consolation  as  I  could  give,  but 
before  I  reached  his  side,  he  was  evidently  so  absorbed  in 
his  problem,  that  I  could  not  venture  to  disturb  him. 

Sometimes,  when  Hugh  had  conquered  some  great  diffi 
culty  in  his  course,  he  would  bound  up  from  the  chair  to 
which  his  resolute  will  had  chained  him,  fling  aside  his 
books,  rush  out  to  the  stables  for  his  horse,  take  his  gun, 
if  he  knew  that  my  uncle  was  hunting,  and  gallop  off  with 
an  exuberance  of  enjoyment  manifest  in  his  face  and  move 
ments,  such  as  even  Charlie  rarely  showed.  Though  he 
had  seldom  mounted  a  horse  before  his  visit  to  St.  Mary's, 
he  had  soon  become,  under  my  uncle's  instruction,  a  fear 
less  and  graceful  rider,  and  a  very  fair  shot.  Charlie  was 
an  adept  in  every  manly  accomplishment  that  ministers  to 


40  TWO   PICTURES. 

pleasure.  His  gay,  insouciant  nature  never  denied  itself  a 
gratification.  It  was  said  of  him  by  some  one,  that  he 
seemed  to  be  perpetually  singing  in  his  heart,  "  Begone  dull 
care  ;  "  but  for  my  part,  I  think  care  never  came  sufficient 
ly  near  him  to  be  sent  away.  He  spoke  truly  when  he 
said  that  the  motto  of  his  life  was  "  Vive  la  bagatelle." 

Everybody  was  charmed  with  the  graceful,  handsome 
boy.  Even  Mr.  Mortimer's  face  kept  its  brightest  smile 
for  Charlie.  My  uncle's  eye  rested  on  him  with  equal 
pride  and  pleasure,  and  the  very  negroes,  while  they  bowed 
or  courtesied  respectfully  to  both  the  youths,  kept  their 
brightest  glances  and  mei'riest  words  for  Charlie.  I  was 
the  only  exception  to  this,  and  I  grew  jealous  for  Hugh. 
Charlie's  brightness  seemed  to  throw  him  into  shadow,  and 
I  did  not  like  it.  This  feeling  doubtless  made  me  unjust  at 
times.  Hugh  was  the  first  to  show  me  this. 

It  was  a  rainy  morning,  and  no  outdoor  amusement 
could  be  thought  of.  Charlie  threw  himself  on  the  sofa  in 
the  library,  with  an  old  novel  which  he  had  obtained  by 
climbing  to  the  highest  shelf  in  the  room.  I  was  doing 
little  better  than  he.  giving  only  half  my  attention  to  the 
book  I  held  in  my  hand,  while  with  the  other  half  I  was 
watching  the  rain  drops  as  they  fell  from  a  drooping  bough, 
and  trickled,  bright  and  clear,  down  the  panes  of  glass 
beside  me.  I  was  startled  from  my  dreamy  mood  by 
Charlie's  springing  to  his  feet,  throwing  down  his  book,  and 
crying,  "  Come,  Hugh !  Put  down  those  everlasting  books, 
and  let  us  do  something  to  keep  us  alive." 

"  Thank  you ;  I  do  not  feel  my  life  in  any  present  dan 
ger,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  Come,  'Gusty  !  you  have  not  read  a  page  of  your  his 
tory  this  half  hour,  you  little  make-believe.  Now  come 
and  play  a  game  of  battledore  in  the  long  room." 

lie  snatched  at  my  book  as  he  spoke,  but  I  clung  to  it 


TWO    PICTURES.  41 

exclaiming,  "  I  don't  want  to  play  battledore — I  don't  like 
battledore." 

"  You  liked  it  yesterday,  when  Hugh  called  you  to  play 
with  him." 

"  I  like  to  play  with  Hugh,"  I  said,  sulkily. 

"  Which  means  that  you  don't  like  to  play  with  me — 
an  avowal  somewhat  more  frank  than  polite,  Miss  Moray  ; 
but  chacun  d  son  goiit" 

I  was  not  mollified  by  Charlie's  French,  for,  as  I  could 
not  understand  it,  I  always  believed  that  he  made  it  the 
vehicle  of  a  sarcasm.  He  now  left  the  room  with  a  height 
ened  complexion.  I  looked  toward  Hugh,  and  met  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  me,  with  an  expression  of  grave  rebuke.  I  hung 
my  head. 

"  What  made  you  so  cross  to  Charlie  1  "  he  asked. 

"  I  did  not  want  to  play  with  him,"  I  answered,  eva 
sively. 

Hugh  bent  forward,  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  drew 
me  to  him. 

"  Why  did  you  not  want. to  play  with  Charlie?  Would 
you  not  play  with  me  if  I  should  ask  you  ?  " 

He  was  answered  by  a  smile,  though  I  still  declined  to 
meet  his  eye. 

"  Charlie  is  always  pleasant  to  you — he  is  pleasant  to 
every  one." 

I  spoke  suddenly,  quickly,  angrily,  I  suppose.  "  I  wish 
Charlie  had  never  come.  I  am  tired  of  hearing  people  say 
'  Charlie's  pleasant,' — as  if  it  was  so  hard  to  be  pleasant." 

"  I  should  think  you  had  proof  in  yourself,  that  it  was 
sometimes  hard  to  be  so.  Do  you  remember,  the  other 
day,  how  angry  you  were  with  the  Athenian  who  voted  for 
the  exile  of  Aristides,  because  he  was  so  weary  of  hearing 
him  called  the  just.  I  am  afraid  you  have  no  better  reason 
for  wishing  Charlie  awray." 


42  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Well,  it  was  reason  enough,  if  the  Athenian  knew 
some  one  more  just  than  Aristides,  who  never  got  any 
praise,  while  every  one  was  talking  of  him." 

"  And  so  you  are  jealous  of  Charlie's  reputation,  are 
you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  jealous — I  don't  want  people  to  think  me 
pleasant,"  I  said,  hotly. 

"  No  !  but  you  want  that  they  should  think  me  so,"  and 
Hugh  stooped  and  pressed  his  lips  to  my  flushed  brow ; 
then,  taking  my  hand  in  his,  he  added  in  that  gentle,  yet 
earnest  tone  which  always  thrilled  my  very  feeart,  and 
made  me  willing  to  attempt  anything  he  could  propose: 
"  My  little  cousin's  love  is  very  dear  to  me.  I  would 
rather  have  that  love,  than  know  that  a  thousand  people  for 
whom  I  do  not  care  a  great  deal,  said,  how  pleasant  I  was  ; 
but  then  her  love  to  me  must  not  make  her  unjust,  or  spoil 
her  temper.  Charlie  is  pleasant — pleasanter  than  I  am." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  I  exclaimed. 

•'That  is  because  you  love  me;  but  strangers  will 
always  find  such  a  gay,  sunny  temper  as  Charlie's,  agree 
able,  while  they  must  wait  awhile,  and  know  what  is  behind 
my  grave  face,  before  they  can  like  me." 

"  1  did  not  wait — I  liked  you  best  at  the  very  first, 
Hugh." 

"  I  think  you  did,  but  I  have  never  understood  how  that 
came  about.  Can  you  tell  me  why  you  liked  me  best  ?  " 

"  Because," — 1  stopped  ;  I  found  reasons  not  so  plenty 
as  blackberries, — "  because  I  liked  you  best — I  mean,  be 
cause  you  suited  me — I  don't  know,  Hugh — somehow  I  felt 
comfortable  with  you." 

Hugh  laughed,  and  rising  from  his  chair,  said,  "  And 
you  suit  me,  and  I  am  very  comfortable  with  you  ;  but 
now  we  will  be  generous,  and  find  poor  Charlie,  and  try  to 
make  him  comfortable  too." 


TWO   PICTURES.  43 

Charlie  had  already  forgotten  his  little  pique  against 
me,  for  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  is,  and 
always  has  been  very  good  tempered.  I  really  think  I 
should  in  time  have  forgiven  him  the  little  conceited  ways 
that  annoyed  me,  and  have  liked  him  heartily  in  the  main, 
though  we  might  still  have  quarrelled  occasionally,  had  not 
his  mother  so  often  wounded  my  self-love,  and  irritated  my 
quick  temper.  I  do  not  yet  understand  how  it  was  that 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  never  appearing  to  be  discomposed 
herself,  could  yet  work  my  nature  into  a  tempest ;  how, 
petting  me  as  I  had  never  been  petted  before,  she  could  yet 
infuse  into  my  heart  suspicion,  never  felt  before,  of  the 
truth  and  the  kindness  of  all  around  me,  herself  included. 
There  was  a  falsetto  tone  in  her  voice  that  roused  me  to 
opposition,  as  the  trumpet  stirs  a  war  horse.  And  yet 
others  thought  it  was  "so  sweet."  How  intensely  unarniable 
I  must  have  appeared  to  the  onlookers  in  these  scenes  ! 

I  know  not  how  soon  after  Mrs.  Moray's  arrival  it  was 
that  I  became  conscious  of  a  change  in  my  feelings  to  my 
uncle.  I  have  said  that  while  sheltering  me  in  his  home, 
and  providing  liberally  for  my  wants,  he  had  never  mani 
fested  to  me  anything  like  love, — had  never  caressed  me 
in  my  infancy,  or  taken  pleasure  in  my  society  as  1  grew 
older.  But  my  uncle  was  liberal  to  all,  and  a  paper  of 
candies,  or  a  new  toy,  made  an  epoch  in  the  life  of  a  child 
so  lonely,  and  the  giver  was  sure  to  be  remembered  with 
pleasure.  There  was  more  than  this  in  my  feeling  to  my 
uncle.  I  was  proud  of  him,  as  I  have  already  said,  proud 
to  belong  to  one  who  seemed  to  my  childish  fancy  so 
great  a  man.  Does  he  love  me  ?  was  a  question  I  had 
never  asked  myself,  till  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  both  suggested 
and  answered  it. 

It  is  probable  that  I  did  not  immediately  notice  the  pa- 
hetic  intonation  of  voice  and  the  glance  of  the  eye,  by  which 


44  TWO   PICTURES. 

she  gave  deeper  significance  to  the  "  Poor  darling ! "  her 
usual  name  for  me  when  we  were  alone.  But  I  was  not 
long  permitted  to  retain  this  happy  unconsciousness.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  found  myself  watching  my  uncle's 
words  and  manner,  as  I  had  never  watched  them  before, 
and  feeling  something  of  resentment  take  the  place  of  ad 
miration  and  gratitude.  The  serpent  had  entered  my  Eden. 
I  was  no  longer  satisfied  to  accept,  with  glad,  untroubled 
heart,  the  good  gifts  showered  upon  me.  I  had  entered  the 
path  through  which  every  earnest  life  must  pass  to  glory, 
or  to  shame — to  the  joy  of  success,  the  diviner  joy  of  self- 
renunciation,  or  the  unmixed  bitterness  of  disappointment. 
I  coveted  the  unattainable.  I  would  know  both  the  evil  and 
the  good. 

It  was  cruel  to  disturb  so  early  my  beautiful  dream  of 
life.  All  I  have  since  experienced  might  have  come,  but 
it  would  have  come  gradually,  and  I  should  have  been 
stronger  to  bear  it.  Our  visitors  had  come  in  the  autumn, 
and  when  spring  had  covered  our  savannas  with  its  more 
delicate  flowers,  I  had  already  begun  to  feel  that  I  had  no 
more  right  to  call  St.  Mary's  mine — my  home — than  they 
had.  And  this  was  very  bitter,  for  my  life  seemed  a  part 
of  that  beautiful  nature,  with  which  and  in  which  I  had 
lived  so  long.  Oh  the  desolateness  of  heart  with  which  I 
first  admitted  the  thought,  that  there  was  no  natural  bond 
between  it  and  me !  The  hour  and  the  scene  rise  before  me, 
in  which  I  was  made  to  stand  face  to  face  with  that  idea, 
already  perhaps  dimly  imagined,  but  then  first  endowed 
with  life  and  power. 

My  uncle  and  Hugh  and  Charlie  were  all  away.  They 
had  gone  to  a  little  town  on  the  mainland — my  uncle  on 
business,  my  cousins  for  the  enjoyment  of  boating — on  a 
bright,  warm,  spring  day.  The  house  was  dull  without 
them,  and  as  soon  as  my  lessons  were  over,  I  had  wandered 


TWO   PICTURES.  45 

off,  in  my  old  fashion,  with  Charity.  Coming  back  laden 
with  flowers,  I  sat  down  upon  the  upper  step  of  the  piazza 
to  weave  them  into  chaplets,  with  which  I  thought  to 
astonish  Mrs.  Moray.  They  were  not  yet  ready  for  exhibi 
tion,  when  she  came  out  from  the  house,  and  putting  her 
hand  caressingly  on  my  bowed  head,  said  in  her  usual  soft 
falsetto,  "  My  poor  darling  !  have  you  come  back  ?  " 

She  had  often  given  me  this  pitying  title,  and  I  had 
borne  it  quietly.  I  know  not  why  it  was,  that  on  this 
especial  day  I  could  not  bear  it.  I  answered  quickly, 
"  What  makes  you  call  me  poor,  Mrs.  Moray  ?  I  don't 
like  to  be  called  so — I  am  not  poor." 

"  Are  you  not,  dear  child  ]  I  feel  as  if  every  one  was 
poor  who  was  left  an  orphan,  with  no  one  to  love  them 
very  dearly." 

"  I  have  my  uncle  to  love  me,  and "  I  was  going 

to  add  Hugh,  but  a  feeling  which  I  did  not  understand, 
restrained  me.  Mrs.  Moray  finished  the  sentence  for  me. 

"  And  Mr.  Mortimer,"  she  said.  "  You  are  right — I  be 
lieve  he  feels  as  kindly  to  you  as  any  one  in  the  world, 
poor  dear ! " 

"  But  I  am  not  poor,  Mrs.  Moray,"  I  repeated,  perti 
naciously.  "  My  uncle  is  rich." 

"  True — he  is.  This  is  a  very  valuable  place,  and  you 
love  it  dearly,  Augusta,  do  you  not  1 " 

Love  !  I  had  never  asked  myself  the  question  ;  it  would 
have  been  as  natural  to  ask  if  I  loved  light,  or  air,  or 
any  of  those  blessed  things  which  are  so  essential  to  our 
life,  that  they  seem  but  a  part  of  it,  and  we  forget  to  be 
thankful  for  them  as  for  separate  gifts. 

"  You  would  not  like  to  go  away,  and  never  see  St. 
Mary's  again,  would  you  ?  "  Mrs.  Moray  again  questioned, 
as  I  sat  mutely  gazing  upon  the  waving  boughs  and  gleam 
ing  waters  of  my  beautiful  home. 


46  TWO  PICTURES. 

"  Never  see  St.  Mary's  again ! "  I  repeated,  slowly. 
What  infinite  sadness  there  was  in  the  words ! 

"  Why,  you  know,  my  dear  child,  it  might  be  so." 
Mrs.  Moray  seated  herself  beside  me  on  the  step,  and  con 
tinued  very  gently,  "  You  must  remember  you  are  not  Mr. 
Moray's  child,  and  should  he  die,  as  every  one,  you  know,  is 
liable  to  do  at  any  time,  he  might  leave  it  to  some  other  per 
son — to  some  person  whom  you  would  not  like  to  live  with,  or 
who  would  not  care  to  have  you  here.  Indeed,  even  during  Mr. 
Moray's  life,  if  you  displease  him,  he  may  send  you  away  ; 
so  you  see  now,  darling,  why  I  called  you  poor.  And  now, 
my  pet,  I  have  told  you  these  things,  not  to  make  you 
unhappy,  but  because  I  think  you  will  be  more  careful  not 
to  offend  your  uncle,  after  you  understand  them.  I  know  it 
is  nob  easy  always  to  please  him,  but  you  must  try — you 
must  not  be  so  independent,  and  you  are  so  cold  in  your 
manner  to  him  ;  you  must  be  more  affectionate;  you  must 
caress  him  ;  take  his  hand,  and  lean  on  him,  and  talk  to 
him  as  you  do  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  sometimes.  You  see, 
dear  child,  I  am  thinking  only  of  your  good." 

Was  this  true  1  Did  she  seek  my  good  ?  If  so,  she 
was  a  poorer  judge  of  character  than  I  think.  I  doubt  if 
any  more  certain  way  of  estranging  my  uncle  could  have 
been  chosen  than  the  fawning,  forced  caresses  thus  advised. 
But  there  was  no  danger  of  these.  She  might  have  seen 
that  there  was  not,  by  the  burning  cheek  and  sullen  brow 
that  met  her  eyes  when  she  strove  to  read,  in  my  face,  the 
answer  my  tongue  refused  to  utter ;  by  the  cold  withdrawal 
of  the  hand  she  would  have  taken  ;  by  the  passion  with 
which,  at  last,  as  she  began  another  of  her  soft  sentences, 
I  sprang  down  the  steps,  and  rushed  from  her  presence — the 
vain,  impotent  passion  of  a  child,  which  soon  dissolves  in 
tears.  As  soon  as  1  was  fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  I 
threw  myself  down  at  the  foot  of  an  old  oak  tree,  and  rest- 


TWO    PICTURES.  4:7 

ing  my  head  against  its  trunk,  wept  bitterly.  When  the 
fit  of  weeping  was  over,  I  went  down  to  the  beach,  and  sat 
for  what  seemed  to  me  a  very  long  time,  throwing  pebbles 
into  the  water,  and  trying  to  picture  to  myself  some  other 
child  living  in  my  home,  enjoying  my  few  simple  pleasures 
— my  uncle's  niece,  Mr.  Mortimer's  pupil,  Hugh's  cousin — 
and  I,  separated  from  all  these,  a  poor  castaway,  it  might 
be,  begging  my  daily  bread — for  a  childish  imagination,  once 
excited,  is  a  wonderful  exaggerator. 

At  length  I  heard  Charity's  voice  calling  me.  I  did 
not  wish  to  meet  her — I  would  have  been  glad  to  meet  no 
one  that  day  ;  for,  though  the  passion  of  my  grief  had 
abated,  it  had  left  me  cross — dissatisfied  with  myself,  and 
yet  more  dissatisfied  with  others.  I  returned  home,  avoid 
ing  the  direction  from  which  Charity  seemed  to  be 
approaching.  When  I  reached  the  house,  I  found  that  my 
uncle  had  arrived,  that  dinner  had  been  served,  and  that 
all  the  family  were  seated  at  table.  The  two  greatest 
faults  I  could  commit,  in  my  uncle's  estimation,  as  I  had 
long  since  learned,  were  want  of  punctuality  at  meals,  and 
want  of  neatness.  That  day  I  was  reckless,  and  I  walked 
into  the  dining  room,  fifteen  minutes  or  more  after  the  rest 
had  been  seated,  with  my  hair  and  dress  in  disorder,  my 
face  stained  with  tears,  and  my  hands  soiled  with  the 
flowers  I  had  gathered  in  my  walk,  and  the  pebbles  I  had 
since  handled.  Without  a  word  of  apology  for  my  tardi 
ness,  or  of  greeting  to  those  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  the 
day  before,  I  walked  to  my  place,  and  was  about  to  take  the 
vacant  chair  that  stood  there.  My  uncle  looked  up,  and 
said,  not  angrily,  "  You  are  late,  Augusta." 

I  turned  my  face  toward  him  without  speaking.  His 
brow  grew  stern.  He  bade  me  come  to  him,  and  when  I 
obeyed,  he  looked  with  coldly  investigating  eyes  upon  my 
disordered  hair  and  dress,  and  my  soiled  face  and  hands.  I 


48  TWO   I'ICTL'liES. 

did  not  shrink  from  the  examination.  I  think  I  was  in  the 
mood  to  be  rather  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  a  combat. 
If  so,  the  desire  did  not  seem  likely  to  be  gratified,  for  my 
uncle  only  ordered  a  waiter  to  call  Charity,  and  when  she 
appeared,  desired  her  to  take  me  to  my  room,  and  arrange 
my  dress,  before  she  suffered  me  to  come  to  table 
again.  My  heart  swelled  high  with  pride  and  anger  ;  I 
shook  off  the  light  touch  which  Charity  had  laid  upon  my 
arm,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  I  had  to  pass  Mrs. 
Moray's  chair,  and  as  I  did  so,  she  stretched  out  her  round, 
white  arm,  covered  with  bracelets,  and  drew  me,  spite  of 
my  resistance,  to  her  side. 

"  My  darling  child,"  she  whispered  in  my  unwilling 
ear,  "  remember  what  I  said  to  you  to-day — speak  gently 
to  your  uncle — ask  his  pardon  for  being  so  careless  of  his 
wishes ; "  then,  still  holding  me  fast,  she  turned  to  my 
uncle  and  said,  aloud,  "  Mr.  Moray,  you  must  forgive  our 
little  pet ;  I  am  sure  you  would,  if  you  knew  how  anxious 
she  was  to  please  you." 

Every  word  she  had  said,  had  been  as  fuel  to  the  fire  of 
my  passion,  and  it  was  no  longer  to  be  controlled.  Tear 
ing  my  hand  from  her  clasp,  and  showing,  I  doubt  not,  in 
looks  and  gesture,  the  fury  that  had  mastered  me,  I  cried, 
in  a  voice  that  sounds  even  now  in  my  memory,  sharp  and 
high,  "  I  wish  you'd  let  me  alone ;  I  am  not  your  darling 
child,  and  you  know  you're  telling  a  story  when  you  say 
that  I'm  anxious  to  please  Uncle  Hugh ;  I  don't  care  to 
please  him — I  won't  ask  his  pardon — I  don't  care  for  him — 
I  don't  care  for  anybody." 

My  uncle  had  not  attempted  to  interrupt  me.  Asi  I 
began,  he  put  down,  untasted,  the  glass  of  wine  he  had  raised 
to  his  lips,  and  looked  at  me  coldly,  calmly,  as  at  a  strange 
study.  When  I  accused  Mrs.  Moray  of  untruth,  his  face 
flushed,  and  he  rose  from  his  chair ;  but  he  did  not  advance 


TWO   riCTUKES.  49 

to  me  until  I  had  finished  my  speech,  then,  two  steps  placed 
him  at  my  side.  He  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  my  shoulder, 
and  pushed  me  toward  Mrs.  Moray. 

"  You  have  insulted  a  lady — a  guest  at  my  table — ask 
her  pardon,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  determined  voice.  Even 
then,  child  as  I  was,  his  stillness  awed  me  more  than  angry 
words  could  have  done  ;  but  at  that  moment,  not  even  this 
could  bow  me  to  make  any  amends  to  Mrs.  Moray.  I  was 
sullenly  silent. 

"  Ask  her  pardon  on  your  knees,"  and  my  uncle  at 
tempted  to  press  me  down.  I  offered  only  passive  resis 
tance.  I  would  not  kneel.  I  did  not  speak,  but  I  did  not 
attempt  to  escape  his  pressure ;  I  did  not  lift  my  eyes  to 
his.  Perhaps  if  I  had,  the  stem,  unbending  purpose  I 
should  have  seen  there,  would  have  overpowered  my  will ; 
but  I  know  not,  it  was  very  strong.  My  only  contests 
hitherto  had  been  with  Charity,  and  I  had  always  con 
quered  her.  During  this  scene,  there  was  perfect  silence  in 
the  room.  Mrs.  Moray  had  indeed  begun  an  expostulation, 
•but  my  uncle  stopped  her  with  a  look,  and  then  all  were 
still,  and  waited — a  minute  or  an  hour — I  know  not ;  but 
it  seemed  to  me  very  long,  before  my  uncle  lifted  his  hand 
from  my  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Go  to  your  room — you  will 
not  leave  it  again  until  you  are  ready  to  obey  me,  and  I 
request  that  no  one  in  my  house  will  hold  any  communica 
tion  with  you  till  then." 

I  walked  out  of  the  room  with  a  firm  step,  carrying  my 
head  somewhat  more  proudly  erect  than  usual,  went  to  my 
room,  and  locking  my  door  against  Charity,  who  was  fol 
lowing  me,  I  threw  myself  on  the  floor,  and  wept  as  only 
a  child  can  weep.  There  was  no  healing  in  such  tears — 
they  left  me  as  they  found  me,  hard,  proud,  and  resentful. 
One  word  of  kindness  would  have  melted  me.  Could  I  but 
have  seen  Hugh  ! 


50  TWO   PICTURES. 

The  long  hours  wore  on,  and  no  one  came  except 
Charity,  whom  I  sent  angrily  avr>\y.  At  length,  there  was 
another  step,  a  knock — it  might  be  Hugh.  I  sprang  up,  I 
opened  the  door ;  I  saw  the  waving  of  a  white  dress,  closed 
it  instantly,  and  locked  it.  My  visitor  was  Mrs.  Moray. 

"  Open  the  door  !  "  she  cried,  in  guarded  tones,  as  if 
afraid  of  being  overheard,  "  I  have  come  to  see  you,  while 
your  uncle  is  lying  down  in  the  library.  I  have  brought 
you  some  candy  that  Charlie  got  for  you  this  morning. 
Let  me  in,  and  we  will  make  friends,  and  I  will  tell  your 
uncle  you  have  asked  my  pardon,  and  all  will  be  right 
again." 

The  candy  might  have  softened  me,  but  the  ofier  to  tell 
an  untruth  for  me,  made  me  despise  her  more  than  ever ; 
no,  I  could  not  ask  her  pardon,  I  could  not  be  friendly  with 
her. 

"  If  you  will  not  let  me  in,  I  must  go,"  she  said,  at  last. 
I  did  not  speak — I  did  not  move. 

"  Well,  good  by,"  the  last  word  lingeringly  pro 
nounced,  as  if  to  give  me  time  for  repentance,  and  then 
she  was  gone.  As  her  steps  died  away,  I  wept  again.  I 
wished,  perhaps,  that  1  had  yielded,  for  I  was  hungry,  hav 
ing  eaten  no  dinner.  The  evening  came  on  cold  and  dark. 
Will  they  leave  mo  here  all  night  alone,  I  asked  myself; 
and  then  I  thought  of  some  of  Charity's  stories  of  ghostly 
visitants.  My  father  and  mother — would  they  visit  me  to 
night  ?  For  the  first  time,  the  thought  brought  a  shudder 
with  it.  My  spirit  was  not  in  accord  with  angel  visitants. 

Suddenly  a  light  shone  under  the  door,  and  Charity's 
voice  called  to  me  to  open  it.  With  more  pleasure  than  I 
would  have  liked  to  confess,  I  admitted  her,  and  with  her 
came  light  and  fire  and  food. 

"  Did  Uncle  Hugh  tell  you  to  bring  me  my  tea  1  "  I 
questioned  Charity,  after  I  had  emptied  the  well-filled  plate 


TWO    PICTURES.  51 

of  buttered  toast,  and  drank  every  drop  of  milk  from  the 
bowl  she  brought  me. 

"  No,  Miss  'Gusty  !  you  think  I  wait  for  ax  'im  1  You 
think  I  let  strange  people  come  here  and  starve  my  chile  ?  " 

Charity's  resentment  was  as  strong  and  keen  as  mine, 
and  evidently  pointed  in  the  same  direction. 

"  Charity,  did  you  see  Hugh  ?  "  The  question  cost  me 
no  little  effort. 

"  I  has  not  seen  Master  Hugh  since  he's  went  to  Mr. 
Mortimer's,  Miss  "Gusty,"  said  Charity,  in  reply. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  it  was  to  Mr.  Mortimer's  he 
went  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hearn  him  tell  Master  Charles  so,  and  he  telled— 
him  too  as  how  he  thought  Mr.  Mortimer  ud  be  the  best 
peacemaker." 

My  heart  sprang  up,  and  threw  off  the  heaviest  part  of 
the  load  that  had  been  oppressing  it.  Hugh  was  not  in 
different  to  me.  Though  he  had  not  disobeyed  my  uncle 
by  coming  to  me,  he  was  thinking  of  me,  and  trying  to 
bring  me  help.  I  was  long  silent  and  thoughtful ;  then 
came  another  question,  spoken  hesitatingly,  and  with  low 
and  faltering  tones,  for  I  was  not  quite  sure  that  it  was 
right  thus  to  interrogate  a  servant,  even  though  the.  ser 
vant  was  Charity. 

"  Charity,  did  you  go  back  to  the  dining  room  after  I 
came  away  ?  " 

Charity  turned  her  face  away,  and  pretended  to  be  too 
busy  at  the  fire  to  look  up,  as  she  answered,  "  Yes,  Miss 
'Gusty,  I  went  back  and  stayed  round  awhile,  'cause  I 
wanted  to  hear." 

I  waited  with  the  hope  that  she  would  tell  me,  unasked, 
all  I  wished  to  know ;  but  she  remained  silent,  and  I  was 
obliged  again  to  question. 

"  What  did  they  say,  Charity  ?  " 


52  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Oh !  Misses  Moray  say  she's  bery  sorry  ;  she  wish 
master  ud  let  you  come  back  ;  you  is  only  a  chile,  and  she 
don't  care  for  you  to  beg  pardon ;  but  master,  he  say — well, 
— 1  don't  know  a'cisely,  but  he  warn't  goiir  to  send  for 
you.'1 

"  But  Hugh — did  Hugh  say  nothing  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  'Gusty  !  but  he  looked  bery  sorry,  and  he 
excused  hisself,  an'  has  went,  as  I  telled  you,  to  Mr.  Mor 
timer's." 

1  was  very  weary  that  evening,  and  fell  asleep  more 
than  once  in  my  chair ;  but  the  house  was  all  still  before 
Charity  could  persuade  me  to  go  to  bed,  so  strong  was  my 
-hope  that  either  Hugh  or  Mr.  Mortimer  would  visit  me. 

The  next  morning,  Charity  wanted  me  to  remain  in  bed, 
saying  that  I  had  been  feverish,  and  talked  all  sorts  of  non 
sense  in  the  night — with  me,  a  common  effect,  as  I  have 
since  found,  of  any  very  great  excitement.  But  I  was  wilful 
us  usual,  and  rising  early,  dressed  myself,  saw  Charity  put 
my  room  in  order,  and  then  sat  waiting  and  listening.  The 
morning  was  warm,  and  Charity  had  raised  one  of  the  sashes 
in  my  room.  Oh  how  lovely  it  was  !  I  can  smell  even  now 
the  sweetbrier,  which  sent  its  delicate  sprays,  all  gemmed 
with  morning  dews,  across  my  window.  The  dew  lay  upon 
the  grassy  lawn,  and  its  pendent  drops  were  like  a  thousand 
mimic  suns  suspended  from  every  bush  and  tree.  The 
majestic  oaks  and  their  gray  drapery  looked  gay  in  that 
morning  light,  and  the  mocking  birds  seemed  to  feel  it,  as 
they  fluttered  from  bough  to  bough,  and  poured  forth  their 
rich  melody.  And  I,  as  free  in  general  as  they,  must  be 
shut  up  in  this  room,  catching  only  glimpses  of  the  beau 
ties  of  sky  and  sea  and  land,  which  I  had  till  lately  felt 
were  all  my  own,  to  be  enjoyed  at  will.  My  spirit  passed 
into  a  rebellious  mood.  "  It  is  too  hard,"  I  said  to  myself; 
"  besides,  as  Mrs.  Moray  said,  I  am  not  Uncle  Hugh's  child, 


TWO   PICTURES.  53 

and  so  I  am  not  bound  to  obey  him.  And  what  more  can  he 
do  than  send  me  back,  and  shut  me  up  here,  if  he  meets 
me  ?  At  any  rate,  I  will  have  one  good  run."  My  hand  was 
on  the  sill  of  the  window,  my  foot  on  a  chair,  from  which  I 
intended  to  spring  out,  when  Charity  opened  the  door,  and 
entered  with  a  waiter  filled  with  all  I  bes't  liked.  She  had 
nearly  let  the  waiter  fall  as  she  saw  what  I  was  about. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  chile  a  doing  !  Here,  your  uncle's 
been  an'  sent  you'  breakfast,  an'  you  is  agoin'  out  when  he 
is  say,  '  Stay  in  ! ' ' 

Charity  spoke  with  evident  alarm.  Such  an  act  of  an 
tagonism  to  my  uncle's  will  seemed  fearful  to  her. 

Her  fears  infected  me,  and  I  drew  back  from  the  win 
dow,  cowed  and  yet  more  depressed.  I  had  no  appetite 
for  the  breakfast  which,  sent  by  my  uncle,  seemed  another 
mark  of  my  bondage.  Poor  Charity's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  as  she  saw  me  push  aside  the  dainties  she  had  pre 
pared  so  carefully,  and,  crossing  my  arms  on  the  table,  drop 
my  head  upon  them,  and  weep  bitterly.  I  could  have 
borne  punishment  in  the  shape  of  pain,  sharp  and  quick,  or 
privation  of  some  definite  pleasure  ;  I  could  have  stood  my 
ground  against  angry  words,  or  even  against  hard  blows ; 
but  this  stern  quietude,  this  leaving  me  to  myself,  this 
shutting  me  out  from  all  the  sweet  influences  of  nature  and 
books  and  friends,  this  pressure  of  a  power  that  did  not 
even  expose  itself  to  the  contact  of  rude  words  from  me, 
which  cared  not  for  my  sorrow,  and  would  release  me  only 
on  submission — it  crushed  me — it  ground  me  down  be- 
neath  its  heel,  but  it  did  not  subdue  my  spirit ;  it  did  not 
hush  the  voice  of  passion — it  increased  the  virulence  of  the 
hatred,  for  the  expression  of  which  I  was  suffering ;  but  it 
made  me,  at  the  same  time,  feel  that  I  was  powerless — it 
reduced  me  to  despair. 

I   know  not  how  lono;  it  was  after  this — for  I  had  no 


51  TWO  PICTURES. 

means  of  measuring  time  but  my  own  weary  sensations, 
and  what  seemed  many  hours  may  have  been  only  one — 
when  Mr.  Mortimer  turned  the  latch  of  my  door,  and  asked 
if  ho  might  enter.  My  heart  beat  so  as  almost  to  slide  my 
voice  as  1  strove  to  answer,  "  Yes."  lie  came  in,  and  I  rose 
from  my  chair ;'  but  there  was  something  in  my  heart 
which  prevented  my  springing  to  meet  him  as  I  was  accus 
tomed  to  do.  1  stood  belbre  him  with  my  sullen  face  bent 
downward,  and  my  arms  hanging  lifelessly  at  rny  side,  but 
not  for  long.  The  good  man  placed  himself  in  the  chair 
from  which  J  had  risen,  and  passing  his  arm  around  me, 
rested  his  other  hand  gently  on  my  head,  saying,  softly, 
"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  " 

At  once  the  hardness  seemed  to  melt  from  my  heart, 
and  my  head  dropped  upon  his  shoulder,  as  if  I  had  found 
there  a  resting  place  and  shelter.  lie  looked  at  me  kindly, 
lovingly,  for  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  "  Have  you  asked 
God  to  bless  you,  this  morning,  Augusta  1 " 

I  did  not  answer,  for,  in  truth,  I  had  not  dared  that  day 
to  repeat  the  prayer  which  asks  to  be  forgiven  as  we  for 
give. 

"  Let  us  clo  it  now,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  and  without 
any  change  of  position,  he  asked  God's  blessing  and  guid 
ance  for  us  through  the  day,  and  not  for  us  only,  but  for 
all ;  for  our  friends — for  our  enemies ;  interweaving  with 
this  petition  an  acknowledgment  of  guilt,  and  a  prayer 
that  we  might  be  enabled  to  show  that  mercy  to  others 
which  we  sought  for  ourselves.  There  was  about  this  good 
man  a  simplicity,  a  vivid  truthfulness  of  manner,  that 
seemed  to  bring  the  Being  he  addressed  so  near,  to  mnke 
his  Intercession  so  thorough  a  reality,  that  the  impression 
was  almost  overpowering  to  the  sensitive  mind  of  a  child. 
Thua  Mr.  Mortimer  had  made  me  feel  that  it  was  a  duty  to 
put  ftway  resentment  from  my  heart — nay,  he  had,  as  it 


TWO   PICTURES.  55 

were,  introduced  me  into  a  presence  in  which  I  feared  to 
show  angry  feeling,  before  he  began  to  speak  on  the  subject 
which  had  brought  him  to  me.  We  were  both  silent  for  a 
while  after  his  prayer ;  then  raising  my  head  from  his 
shoulder,  and  placing  me  where  he  could  look  full  into  my 
face,  he  said  :  "  And  now  come,  tell  me  what  troubles  you. 
Why  should  you  stay  shut  up  in  this  room — you  who  love 
liberty  so  well — when  you  have  only  to  say  you  are  sorry 
for  your  rudeness  to  Mrs.  Moray,  and  walk  out  of  it? 
Come,  tell  me,  what  is  your  reason  1 " 

"  Because  I  won't  tell  a  story,  and  I  am  not  sorry,"  I 
answered  immediately. 

"  Of  course  you  cannot  tell  an  untruth  ;  but  did  you 
say  you  were  not  sorry  for  being  rude  to  a  lady  who  is 
your  uncle's  guest,  at  his  own  table  ?  besides,  she  was  your 
guest,  too." 

"  I  only  said  what  was  true ;  she  did  tell  a  story  ;  she 
said  I  was  so  anxious  to  please  Uncle  Hugh." 

"  And  are  you  not  anxious  to  please  Uncle  Hugh —  Uncle 
Hugh  who  loved  your  dear  father  as  if  he  were  his  o\vn 
son,  and  who  has  always  taken  care  of  you  ?  For  shame, 
Augusta  ;  can  you  be  so  ungrateful  1 " 

My  cheek  flushed,  I  hung  my  head  and  answered,  almost 
in  a  whisper  :  "  I  did  not  care  to  please  him  then." 

"  And  why  not  1  " 

"  Because  Mrs.  Moray  said  that  Uncle  Hugh  did  not 
love  me  much,  and  that  if  I  did  not  take  great  pains  to 
please  him,  he  would  send  me  away  from  St.  Mary's  and 
never  let  me  come  back ;  and  then  she  told  Uncle  Hugh  I 
was  so  anxious  to  please  him — just  as  if  I  was  afraid  of 
him,  and  was  making  believe." 

"  All  this,  Augusta,  only  shows  that  Mrs.  Moray  did 
not  understand  either  you  or  your  uncle  very  well ;  it  may 
have  been  all  kindly  meant,  and  she  may  have  believed  all 


56  TWO   PICTURES. 

she  said.  At  any  rate,  if  she  had  done  wrong,  it  did  not 
become  a  little  girl  to  tell  her  so,  and  in  her  own  home, 
too." 

"  But  she  said  it  was  not  my  home." 

"  She  could  not  mean  that  it  was  not  your  home ;  but, 
even  suppose  it  had  not  been,  do  you  think  it  was  proper 
for  a  little  girl  like  you,  to  speak  as  you  did  to  a  lady  like 
Mrs.  Moray  ?  Answer  me,  Augusta ;  I  know  you  will 
answer  truthfully." 

I  answered  "  No  !  " 

"Then  surely,  my  truthful  little  friend,  you  will  not 
refuse  to  obey  your  uncle,  and  tell  Mrs.  Moray  what  you 
have  told  me." 

- "  But  they  ought  not  to  treat  me  so — she  ought  not  to 
tell  me  such  things." 

"  The  question  is  not  what  they  ought  to  do,  or  what 
she  ought  not  to  do,  but  \vhat  you,  Augusta  Moray,  ought 
to  do — always  the  most  important  question  in  the  world 
for  you,  my  child." 

How  could  I  resist  such  a  teacher  !  Oh  that  he  were 
beside  me  now  !  Then  he  conquered  all  my  opposition, 
and  led  me  out,  if  not  prepared  with  a  very  ample  apology, 
willing,  at  least,  to  assent  to  his  assurances  that  I  saw  I  had 
acted  very  improperly,  and  regretted  having  given  way  to 
angry  feeling.  I  was  received  by  Mrs.  Moray  with  the 
utmost  apparent  cordiality  ;  her  tenderness  during  the  day 
was  wellnigh  overpowering — to  my  temper,  at  least ;  but 
with  the  help  of  Charlie's  candies  and  an  outpouring  of  my 
full  heart  to. Hugh,  I  managed  to  endure  it. 

This  was  by  no  means  the  only  occasion  on  which  Mrs. 
Moray  aroused  my  combativeness,  or  insinuated,  in  her 
gentle  tones  and  tender  manner,  doubts  of  my  uncle's  kind 
ness  to  me.  I  can  recall  now  the  change  which  passed 
over  my  feelings  and  manner,  and  I  can  remember,  too, 


TWO   PICTURES.  57 

how  his  indifference  grew  into  irritability,  and,  as  I  verily 
believe,  for  a  time  into  positive  dislike.  Had  Hugh 
remained  at  St.  Mary's,  he  might  have  helped  me  to  resist 
the  evil  in  my  own  heart ;  but  he  was  gone,  and  under  Mrs. 
Moray's  influences,  I  went  from  bad  to  worse,  till  even 
Charity  exclaimed  that  "  she  did  not  know  what  had  come 
to  her  chile." 

My  uncle  seemed,  at  first,  equally  pleased  with  the  two 
boys.  He  liked  Charlie's  gay,  adventurous  spirit,  and  he 
was  gratified  by  Mr.  Mortimer's  report  of  Hugh's  talents. 
Perhaps  he  may  sometimes  have  feared  that  a  bookworm, 
ns  he  was  disposed  to  consider  Hugh,  must  lack  the  quali 
ties  on  which  the  old  Morays  had  built  their  fame.  If  he 
had  such  a  doubt,  it  did  not  long  exist. 

My  uncle  and  Charlie  went  out  as  usual  one  morning  on 
a  hunt,  and  left  Hugh,  as  usual  too,  at  his  studies.  The 
hunters  had  not  returned  at  one  o'clock,  when  Mr.  Morti 
mer  was  going  home  to  his  early  dinner.  Hugh  and  I 
walked  home  with  him.  Ah!  how  spicy  the  woods  were 
on  that  warm,  winter's  day.  Hugh  and  I  were  sauntering 
slowly  back  again,  stopping  now  to  listen  to  the  song  of  a 
bird,  and  now  to  watch  a  squirrel  jumping  from  tree  to 
tree,  or  a  rabbit  scampering  off  among  the  bushes,  fright 
ened  by  the  sound  of  our  tread  upon  the  dry  leaves  in  our 
path,  when  we  were  startled  by  hearing  a  woman's  scream. 
Hugh,  bidding  me  remain  where  I  was,  sprang  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  scream,  or  screams,  for  they  were  repeated 
several  times.  A  little  frightened  at  finding  myself  alone, 
I  followed,  and  was  soon  in  presence  of  a  scene  which  by 
no  means  tended  to  calm  my  terrors. 

A  schooner  was  then  lying  near  the  Island,  taking  in 
my  uncle's  cotton  for  market.  The  sailors  from  this 
schooner  had  been  guilty  of  some  disorderly  conduct,  which 
had  caused  my  uncle  to  forbid  their  coming  on  shore, 


58  TWO   PICTURES. 

except  at  the  point  at  which  the  cotton  was  to  be  delivered ; 
yet  here  was  one  of  them, — a  thickset,  powerful  man,  with 
a  knife  by  his  side,  just  sufficiently  intoxicated  to  make  him 
insolent,  and  opposite  to  him,  defending  himself  by  a  stick 
he  had  caught  from  the  ground  as  he  ran,  was  Hugh,  a 
mere  stripling.  How  noble  he  looked,  his  sallow  cheeks 
flushing,  his  dark  eyes  gleaming,  his  graceful  form  swaying 
hither  and  thither,  to  evade  the  blows  which  his  brutal 
antagonist  showered  thickly  on  the  air.  Behind  Hugh  was 
a  young  negress,  who  had  been  pursued  by  the  sailor,  and 
whose  screams  had  drawn  us  there.  And  now  I  resorted  to 
the  same  feminine  weapon.  Again  and  again  I  uttered  that 
sharp  cry  which  terror  prompts.  Fortunately,  my  uncle 
and  Charlie  were  at  no  great  distance  from  us,  on  their 
return  homeward.  They  heard  me,  and  arrived  just  as  the 
wretch,  who  had  drawn  his  knife,  had  succeeded  in  giving 
Hugh  a  pretty  severe  cut  upon  the  head.  Of  course  the 
battle  was  at  an  end  as  soon  as  the  horsemen  appeared. 
The  man  took  to  flight,  and,  though  punished  afterward  by 
confinement  on  board  the  schooner,  escaped  then  with  only 
a  blow  from  my  uncle's  whip  in  passing,  for  all  attention 
was  engrossed  by  Hugh,  down  whose  face  the  blood  was 
flowing  in  a  stream.  A  Southern  planter  is  not  unac 
customed  to  act  as  a  surgeon  on  a  sudden  emergency,  and 
in  a,  few  minutes  my  uncle  had  closed  the  wound  on  Hugh's 
head,  fastened  the  edges  together  with  adhesive  plaster, 
which  he  always  carried  in  his  pocketbook,  washed  the 
blood  away  with  Hugh's  handkerchief,  which  he  dipped  in 
the  water  of  a  neighboring  ditch,  and  tied  his  own  around 
Hugh's  head.  While  he  was  doing  this,  he  complimented 
him  warmly  on  the  prowess  he  had  displayed,  and  even  I 
was  not  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  lie  told  the 
story  the  next  day  to  Mr.  Mortimer.  I  was  less  pleased 
Wvth  Mrs.  Charles  Moray's  remarks  upon  it.  It  is  true  her 


TWO    PICTURES.  59 

words  were  even  more  flattering  than  my  uncie's.  She 
talked  of  Hugh's  heroism,  called  him  a  "preux  chevalier" — 
"  un  heros  de  roman ;  "  for,  like  Charlie,  she  was  accustomed 
to  use  many  French  phrases. 

I  did  not  quite  understand  all  this.  So  far  as  it  was 
intelligible  to  me,  I  thought  it  just  and  true ;  but  there  was 
a  tone  in  Mrs.  Moray's  voice,  a  sparkle  in  her  eye,  which 
made  me  doubt  whether  she  meant  what  she  said  ;  and  this 
doubt  was  strengthened  by  observing  that  her  speeches 
vexed  Hugh,  and  that  even  Charlie  was  sometimes  annoyed 
by  them,  arid  answered  impatiently.  These  little  scenes,  be 
it  observed,  did  not  occur  in  my  uncle's  presence. 

One  afternoon,  Hugh  and  Charlie  were  amusing  them 
selves  with  pitching  quoits,  on  a  level  spot  about  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  house.  I  was  not  with  them,  not  from  any 
idea  on  my  part  that  the  game  was  unfeminine,  but  be 
cause  I  was  absorbed  in  a  book  brought  me  that  morning 
by  Mr.  Mortimer.  I  sat  just  within  the  library  door ;  my 
uncle,  Mr.  Mortimer,  and  Mrs.  Moray  were  on  the  piazza 
near  the  same  door,  which  was  open.  They  were  watching 
the  play  of  the  young  men,  with  occasional  observations  on 
the  vigor  and  grace  of  their  movements. 

"  How  we  shall  miss  them  when  they  leave  us  ! "  said 
Mr.  Mortimer. 

"  They  will  be  often  with  us,  I  hope,"  my  uncle  an 
swered. 

Then  came  the  soft  voice  of  Mrs.  Moray,  which  always 
had  a  disagreeable  sort  of  fascination  for  me,  and  I  laid 
down  my  book  to  listen. 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  nothing  would  give  Charlie  greater 
pleasure,"  she  said  ;  "  but  then,  what  shall  we  do  about  his 
school  ?  Northern  schools  give  their  long  vacation  in  the 
summer,  when  it  is  scarcely  safe  to  come  from  a  northern 
climate  to  your  beautiful  home." 


60 


TWO   PICTURES. 


My  uncle  did  not  reply  immediately  to  this.  The  men 
tion  of  schools  seemed  to  have  sent  his  thoughts  off  in 
another  direction. 

"  Hugh  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  did  not  expect  to 
go  to  school  again.  Does  he  not  intend  to  enter  college  ?  " 
"  I  believe  not,"  Mrs.  Moray  answered  ; ."  I  have  heard 
that  Mrs.  James  Moray  intended  her  son  to  go  into  her 
brother's  counting  house  or  office — I  hardly  know  how 
they  style  it ;  he  is  in  some  sort  of  money  making  busi 
ness." 

"  And  so  Hugh  Moray  is  to  go  into  trade  ?  " 
I  knew  by  my  uncle's  tone,  how  his  eyes  were  flashing. 
"  I  believe  so,"  said  Mrs.  Moray,  who,  I  have  observed, 
seldom  commits  herself  positively  to  a  statement  of  facts. 

"  You  surprise  me,  madam,"  exclaimed  my  uncle.  "  I 
cannot  understand  how  Captain  Moray,  himself  holding  an 
honorable  position  in  the  military  service  of  the  United 
States,  can  consent  to  suoh  a  thing." 

"  Captain  Moray  seldom  withholds  his  consent  from 
anything  proposed  by  his  wife.  He  is  an  easy,  good- 
natured  man,  who  has  no  great  partiality  for  the  military 
service  to  which  his  father  devoted  him." 

"  No  partiality  !  "  my  uncle  repeated,  impatiently  ;  "  a 
military  man  and  not  love  his  profession !  strange  in 
deed  ! " 

Mrs.  Moray  laughed — a  low,  merry,  musical  laugh — yet 
it  heated  me  as  I  sat  listening,  and  made  me  angry  for 
Hugh's  father. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Moray,  what  would  you  have  1  Men 
love  that  pursuit  in  which  they  distinguish  themselves. 
Captain  Moray  says  the  Department  is  unjust  to  him — he 
never  obtains  any  place  of  distinction." 

Now,  every  word  of  this  statement  was  true,  but  the 
tone  !  the  tone  !  that  said  the  Department  was  not  unjust ; 


TWO   PICTURES.  Gl 

that  it  was  wise  to  give  Captain  Moray  no  very  responsible 
position. 

I  heard  my  uncle  push  back  his  chair,  and  pace  the 
piazza  with  the  quick  step  that  marked,  with  him,  a  ruffled 
spirit.  But  a  peacemaker  was  near. 

"  Hugh  is  a  fine  lad,  with  uncommon  abilities,  and  a 
brave  and  enterprising  fellow  withal,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer, 
after  allowing  a  little  time  for  my  uncle's  irritability  to 
calm  itself. 

"  So  he  is,"  said  uncle  Hugh,  with  decision,  "  and  he 
shall  not  go  into  trade." 

The  next  morning,  before  Mr.  Mortimer  came,  Hugh 
was  helping  me  with  a  Latin  sentence  which  I  found  some 
what  beyond  my  reach,  when  my  uncle  entered  the  library, 
so  quietly  that  we  were  both,  for  a  moment,  unconscious  of 
his  presence.  Hugh  was  not  quite  unprepared  for  what 
followed,  for  I  had  communicated  to  him  Mrs.  Charles 
Moray's  statements  of  the  evening  before,  and  the  effect 
they  had  produced  on  my  uncle.  The  communication  had 
been  made  in  the  way  of  questions,  beginning,  "  Docs  not 
your  father  like  ?  "  and  "  does  your  father  say  ?  " 

I  had  hoped  to  obtain  a  prompt  denial  of  Mrs.  Moray's 
facts,  but  to  my  surprise  and  chagrin,  Hugh's  answers  con 
firmed  them  all,  and  when  I  said,  at  length,  "  Mrs.  Moray 
said  so,  but  I  did  not  believe  her,"  he  answered,  "  It  is  all 
true,  Augusta,  though  it  may  be  that  Mrs.  Moray  has 
drawn  some  incorrect  conclusions  from  them.  I  hope  Mr. 
Moray  will  know  my  father  one  day,  and  then  he  will  see 
how  much  reason  I  have  to  be  proud  of  him." 

"  Well,  uncle  Hugh  says  you  shan't  go  into  trade. 
What  does  that  mean,  Hugh  ?  Is  it  anything  bad  ]  " 

Hugh  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  It  means  a  great  deal 
more  than  you  can  understand  at  present ;  but  it  is  nothing 
bad." 


62  TWO    PICTURES. 

So  Hugh  was  prepared  for  my  uncle's  visit.  Seating 
himself  in  Mr.  Mortimer's  chair,  my  uncle  said  :  "  Hugh  ! 
how  old  are  you  1 " 

"  Eighteen,  sir." 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  you  ought  to  have  been  in  col 
lege  two  years  ago  ;  if  you  enter  now,  you  will  be  of  age 
sometime  before  you  can  graduate." 

Hugh's  face  (lushed ;  he  lowered  his  eyes  and  was 
silent. 

"  Are  you  not  prepared  to  enter  ? "  asked  my  uncle, 
showing  by  the  question  what  interpretation  he  put  upon 
Hugh's  embarrassment. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  my  teachers  thought  that  I  might  enter  the 
Sophomore  class,  at  Columbia  College,  a  year  ago,  and  I 
do  not  think  that  I  have  lost  anything  since." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  enter  when  you  were  so  well 
prepared  ? " 

Hugh's  brow  became  of  a  yet  deeper  crimson.  I  pitied 
the  embarrassment,  which  I  did  not  understand,  and  drawing 
near  to  him,  laid  my  hand  on  his.  He  clasped  it  closely, 
and  as  if  the  contact  with  one  who  loved  him  gave  him 
strength  :  he  answered :  "  I  have  no  hope  of  a  collegiate 
course,  Mr.  Moray.  My  father  has  done  all  he  could  for 
me.  I  have  sisters  to  be  provided  for.  My  father  has 
given  me  a  very  good  academical  course,  and  I  cannot  ask 
for  more.  I  ought  now  to  be  doing  something  for  myself 
and  for  them  too." 

"  And  what  have  you  thought  of  doing,  Hugh  ?  I 
should  think  from  what  I  saw  yesterday,  that  you  would 
have  no  objection  to  your  father's  profession  ;  or,  would 
you  like  the  army  better  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !  the  army— West  Point — a  West  Point 
education  I  should  prefer  to  any  other ;  but — "  here  Hugh's 
uplifted  head  drooped  again — "  I  must  not  think  of  it. 


TWO   PICTURES. 

There  is  but  one  thing  my  father  is  obstinate  about — he 
will  never  consent  to  a  military  life  for  me." 

"  And  why  not,  Hugh  1  1  have  little  doubt  that  I  could 
procure  a  cadet's  appointment  to  West  Point  for  you.  I 
think  it  strange  your  father  should  object  to  it." 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Moray,  you  would  not  think  it  strange  if 
you  had  had  my  father's  experience.  He  says  I  may  be  a 
ship  carpenter  if  I  will,  but  he  never  wishes  to  see  me  com 
mand  a  ship  in  the  United  States'  service,  or  enter  its  mili 
tary  service  in  any  way  ;  he  could  not  bear  to  see  me  wear 
away  life,  as  he  has  done,  in  the  sickness  of  hope  deferred." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  that  you  need  do  that,  Hugh ;  you 
are  brave  and  active,  you  would,  I  hope,  soon  distinguish 
yourself  by  promptitude  and  daring." 

"  It  is  hard  to  do  that  in  a  time  of  peace,  Mr.  Moray  ; 
but  as  far  as  it  could  be  done,  my  father  has  done  it ;  he 
has  never  been  under  arrest ;  he  has  the  highest  testimo 
nials  from  every  officer  under  whom  he  has  served  ;  he  has 
seen  more  sea  service  than  many  officers  who  have  worn 
the  uniform  of  the  country  longer  than  he,  and  he  has  vol 
unteered  for  every  enterprise  of  difficulty  or  danger  that 
has  been  undertaken  in  his  time." 

"  How  old   is  your  father,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Fifty,  Mr.  Moray  ;  he  entered  the  navy  at  sixteen." 

"  Well,  he  is  now  Post-Captain — we  have  no  higher 
rank." 

"  He  is  not  Post-Captain,  sir ;  he  is  only  a  Comman 
der." 

"  What  salary  does  that  give  him  1 " 

"  Twenty-five  hundred  dollars  when  on  duty  either  on 
sea  or  shore,  and  fifteen  hundred  when  waiting  orders." 

'•  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  all  he  has  won  by  the  devo 
tion  of  over  thirty  years  of  his  life  ?  I  had  no  idea  our 
naval  officers  were  so  ill  paid.  Of  course,  your  father  must 


4  TWO   PICTURES. 

keep  constantly  employed  at  sea  or  on  shore,  for  it  would 
be  impossible  to  support  a  family,  as  an  officer  of  his  rank 
would  be  expected  to  do,  on  an  income  of  fifteen  hundred 
dollars." 

"  He  would  be  very  glad  to  be  always  employed  ;  but 
he  cannot  often  obtain  service  on  shore ;  such  favors  are  re 
served  for  those  who,  having  independent  fortunes,  can 
afford  to  live  at  Washington,  and  make  themselves  agree 
able  in  society  there,  or  for  those  who  can  command  great 
political  influence." 

My  uncle  was  long  silent ;  at  length,  he  said  :  "  This 
seems  a  hard  case,  Hugh." 

"  No  harder  than  many  others,  sir." 

Hugh  strove  to  speak  cheerfully,  but  it  would  not  do  ; 
tears  rushed  to  his  eyes,  he  bit  his  lip,  his  chest  heaved 
against  the  passionate  emotion  he  would  fain  have  sup 
pressed,  and  he  covered  his  face  to  hide  his  agitation.  I 
wept  with  him,  and  kneeling  at  his  side,  kissed  again  and 
again  the  hand  which  still  clasped  mine,  wetting  it  with  my 
tears  as  I  did  so.  My  uncle  himself  twinkled  away  some 
unusual  moisture  from  his  eyes  as  he  said,  "Don't — don't, 
Hugh  !  Calm  yourself,  my  dear  boy,  and  hear  me  ;  I  have 
something  to  propose  to  you." 

Hugh  had  already  mastered  himself,  though  his  moist 
eyes  and  flushed  face  showed  with  what  difficulty. 

"  I  wish  to  take  charge  of  your  education  in  future, 
Hugh;  if  your  father  will  consent  to  West  Point,  I  think  I 
have  interest  enough  to  procure  an  appointment  there." 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  not  consent,  sir." 

"  lie  may — he  may,  Hugh — I  will  write  myself;  but 
if  he  should  not,  select  your  profession,  and  I  will  be 
answerable  for  all  your  expenses  while  preparing  for  it." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Moray  !  you  overpower  me  with  kindness. 
How  shall  I  thank  you  1 " 


TWO    PICTURES.  G5 

How  I  loved  my  uncle  at  that  moment,  as  I  looked  at 
Hugh's  happy,  beaming  face  ! 

"  You  owe  mo  no  thanks,  Hugh,"  said  my  uncle ;  "  I 
only  perform  a  duty  that  devolves  on  me  as  the  head  of 
our  house,  in  making  this  proposition;  but  if  you  think 
yourself  indebted  to  me,  you  can  repay  me  a  thousand  fold, 
by  making  the  name  of  Moray  as  distinguished  in  America 
as  it  was  in  Scotland.  Do  for  it,  Hugh,  what  I  have  failed 
to  do,  and  you  will  make  me  your  debtor — but  we  will 
speak  of  this  another  time ;  write  now  to  your  father — we 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  My  father  is  cruising  on  the  coast  of  Africa ;  but  I  will 
write  to  my  mother.  She  will  know  exactly  how  he  feels, 
and  whether  I  may  hope  for  West  Point." 

"And  if  you  may  not  hope  for  West  Point,  what  will 
be  your  next  choice  1  " 

';  I  can  scarcely  say,  sir.  I  have  never  hoped  for  a  pro 
fession,  the  preparation  was  so  expensive. 

"  Well !  think  of  it  now.  How  would  the  law  suit 
you  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,  sir ;  better  than  anything 
except  West  Point,  I  think." 

"  You  had  better  write  without  delay  to  your  mother. 
I  will  give  you  a  note  to  enclose  to  her — "  my  uncle  took 
out  his  watch  while  speaking,  and  having  glanc  d  at  it, 
added,  "  It  is  but  ten  o'clock — if  you  write  immediately,  I 
will  send  a  boat  up  with  the  letter,  and  it  will  be  quite  in 
time  for  the  weekly  mail  which  leaves  Sunbury  to-morrow." 

A  little  more  than  a  fortnight  later  it  must  have  been,  I 
think,  that  as  we  wore  seated  at  the  breakfast  table,  the 
weekly  mail  was  brought  in,  and  my  uncle  having  exam 
ined  its  contents,  handed  a  letter  to  Hugh.  There  Avas  an 
other  addressed  in  the  same  handwriting  to  himself.  Both 
were  from  Mrs.  Captain  Moray,  as  we  afterward  learned. 


66  TWO    PICTURES. 

Hugh  glanced  at  his  letter,  turned  very  pale,  and  rising 
from  table,  hurried  from  the  room  and  from  the  house. 
When  he  came  back,  about  an  hour  afterward,  I  was  sitting 
on  the  upper  step  of  the  piazza  waiting  for  him,  while  my 
uncle  stood  but  a  little  removed  from  me,  taking  some 
observation  of  the  weather,  which  threatened  rain.  Hugh 
seemed  to  see  no  one  but  my  uncle  ;  he  walked  directly  to 
him,  and  said  :  "  My  mother  tells  me  she  has  written  to 
you,  Mr.  Moray.  She  has  thanked  you,  I  feel  sure,  better 
than  I  can  do ;  but  I  will  try  to  fulfil  your  wishes,  and  I 
desire  to  be  guided  in  all  things  by  your  advice." 

"  That  is  enough,  Hugh  ;  " — my  uncle  grasped  for  a 
moment  the  hand  that  Hugh  held  out  to  him — "  never 
speak  to  me  of  thanks.  My  life  promised  much  which  it 
has  not  fulfilled,  Hugh — let  it  not  be  so  with  yours  ; 
exert  your  great  talents — rise  to  distinction  in  your  chosen 
career — help  to  redeem  some  of  my  failures  by  the  honor 
you  reflect  on  the  name  we  both  bear,  and  it  is  I  who  shall 
be  the  debtor." 

My  uncle  spoke  with  an  emotion  which  I  had  never  seen 
him  show  before.  This  rivetted  my  attention,  and  im 
pressed  on  my  memory  words  which  I  did  not  fully  under 
stand.  I  was  surprised  and  somewhat  impatient  that  Hugh 
did  not  answer ;  but  I  suspect  the  glow  on  his  cheek,  and 
the  light  in  his  eye,  were  a  better  answer  in  my  uncle's 
opinion,  than  any  words  could  have  been.  They  walked 
side  by  side  once  across  the  piazza  in  silence.  Then  my 
uncle  spoke  again. 

"  And  so  we  must  relinquish  West  Point.  Were  you 
much  disappointed  at  that,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  expected  to  be,  sir.  I  hoped  to  the  last 
that  my  mother  might  find  some  way  of  reconciling  my 
father  to  what  I  wished  so  much ;  but  I  am  sure  she  is 
right,  and  I  am  quite  reconciled  now." 


TWO   PICTURES.  67 

But  I  found  it  much  more  difficult  to  be  reconciled, 
when  I  knew  that  the  result  of  all  this  would  be  to  take 
Hugh  away  nearly  a  month  earlier  than  had  been  originally 
intended.  My  uncle,  indeed,  seemed  impatient  of  every 
day's  delay.  He  had  thrown  himself  into  the  question  of 
Hugh's  success  with  all  the  ardor  of  his  nature. 

Hugh  left  us  the  last  of  April.  My  parting  with  him 
was  a  great  sorrow.  How  well  I  remember  every  incident 
connected  with  it !  I  helped  him  pack  his  trunk,  and  make 
the  little  arrangements  necessary  for  his  journey  to  Savan 
nah  and  his  voyage  thence.  He  had  a  parting  present  for 
me — it  was  Campbell's  "  Pleasures  of  Hope." 

"  To-morrow  you  will  know  all  about  them,  Augusta," 
he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  for  as  soon  as  we  part,  you  must 
begin  to  hope  that  we  are  to  meet  again  under  the  happiest 
circumstances." 

"And  never  to  part  again — Hugh,  may  I  hope  that? 
When  you  come  back,  will  you  stay  always  ?  " 

"  Stay  here,  at  St.  Mary's,  always  !  Why,  Augusta, 
what  should  I  do  with  my  law-learning  here  1  No — my 
dear  child,  I  have  no  prospect  of  staying  in  any  place  half 
so  pleasant — I  must  live  in  a  great,  bustling  city." 

"And  will  you  send  for  me,  Hugh?  When  you  are 
done  with  college,  will  you  send  for  me,  and  let  me  live 
with  you  1 " 

"  Would  you  come  to  me  if  I  sent  ?  Would  you  live 
with  me  ?  " 

Hugh  looked  into  my  eyes  with  such  an  earnest  expres 
sion  that  it  brought  the  hot  blood  into  my  cheek— innocent 
child  as  I  was — but  I  answered, decidedly,  nevertheless,  "To 
be  sure  I  will,"  and  laid  my  little  hand  in  his  for  confirma 
tion  of  the  promise. 

"  Would  you  leave  your  beautiful  home  here,  and  all 
your  friends  for  me  ?  " 


GS  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  love  St.  Mary's,"  I  answered,  with  a  childish  sim 
plicity,  "  but  it  can't  love  me  back — you  will  love  me  back, 
won't  you,  Hugh?  " 

I  was  very  much  in  earnest,  and  I  doubt  not  both  eye 
and  voice  expressed  it.  Hugh's  was  the  only  hand,  except 
Charity's,  from  which  I  had  ever  tasted  that  sweet  draught 
of  love  which  makes  all  other  draughts  insipid.  He  knew 
this  well,  and  the  knowledge  doubtless  touched  him  to  a 
tenderer  feeling.  He  threw  his  arm  around  me  as  I  stood 
before  him,  and  drawing  me  close — close  to  him,  kissed  my 
forehead,  and  said  gravely  and  impressively,  "  I  will,  dear 
child — I  will  love  you  truly,  so  long  as  I  live." 

As  he  raised  his  head,  I  saw  him  color,  and  at  the  same 
time,  I  heard  Mrs.  Charles  Moray's  low  laugh,  and  then  fol 
lowed  words,  uttered  in  a  taunting  tone. 

"  And  so — I  have  been  present  at  the  betrothal  ! 
Really,  Hugh,  you  seem  to  bo  hurrying  rapidly  to  the 
goal ;  you  are  determined  to  secure  yourself  at  all  points  ; 
but  I  hardly  thought  you  would  be  so  dishonorable  as  to 
bind  a  child  like  that  by  promises." 

Mrs.  Moray's  color  rose,  and  her  breathing  quickened 
as  she  spoke.  Hugh  rose  from  his  seat,  still  holding  my 
hand,  and  meeting  her  angry  eyes  with  a  firm,  manly  look, 
he  said,  "  I  will  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  you,  Mrs. 
Moray,  but  I  entreat  you  to  spare  the  innocence  and  sim 
plicity  of  this  child.  As  for  me,  I  am  willing  to  repeat  to 
Mr.  Moray  every  word  of  our  conversation." 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  ;  but  that  is  quite  unnecessary  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned, — quite, — of  course  I  was  only  jesting  — 
just  as  J  am  when  I  remind  you,  Hugh,  that 

" '  There's  many  a  slip, 

Between  the  cup  and  the  lip.' " 

She  turned  and  left  the  room.     I  suppose  I  looked  a 


TWO   PICTURES.  G9 

little  frightened  as  well  as  puzzled,  for  Hugh  smiled  cheer 
fully  on  me  arid  said,  "  Don't  be  alarmed — there  is  no  harm 
done.  1  have  promised  to  love  you  always,  and  I  will  keep 
my  word.  Be  sure  you  keep  yours,  and  we  can  both 
rejoice  in  the  pleasures  of  hope." 

Some  time  after  Hugh  had  gone  away,  Mrs.  Charles 
Moray  told  my  uncle  what  she  had  heard  him  say  to  me  in 
that  interview.  She  did  not  know  I  was  near  her,  yet  she 
spoke  very  gently  of  Hugh.  She  said  he  was  a  very  fine 
young  man,  but  too  young  to  know  all  the  consequences  of 
his  words  ;  she  was  sure  he  had  no  wrong  meaning ;  but 
Miss  Moray  was  such  an  heiress, — men  were  so  selfish, — 
one  could  not  be  too  careful — she  had  felt  it  her  duty  to 
tell  Mr.  Moray,  though  at  first  she  had  hesitated  for  Hugh's 
sake.  My  uncle  heard  her  with  a  smile ;  he  was  much 
obliged  to  her  for  her  care  ;  but  the  young  man  had  told 
him  of  this  the  evening  before  he  left  St.  Mary's. 

There  was  enough  in  all  this  to  have  completely  turned 
my  little  head,  and  it  would  doubtless  have  done  so  had  I 
understood  Mrs.  Moray  then  as  I  do  now, — had  there  been 
near  me  any  one  who  would  have  instructed  me  in  the 
world  and  the  world's  ways.  But  my  only  confidante  was 
Charity,  and  when  1  asked  her  for  an  explanation  of  Mrs. 
Moray's  meaning,  she  said  :  "  Mrs.  Moray  was  cross,  and 
she  was  sure  it  was  right  for  cousins,  like  Hugh  and  me, 
to  love  one  another — adding,  "  I  only  wish  to  goodness,  Miss 
'Gusty,  Master  Hugh  had  been  your  brother  !  " 

And  did  not  I  wish  it  too !  What  a  sweet  word 
"  brother "  seemed  to  me !  I  long  called  Hugh  so  in  my 
heart,  and  sometimes  in  the  answers  that  I  sent  to  the  little 
notes  that  came  to  me  through  my  uncle,  with  whom  Hugh 
corresponded  regularly,  though  not  frequently.  His  letters 
I  never  saw,  but  I  have  since  heard  all  of  his  life  at  this 
time,  which  they  could  have  told,  from  lips  which  reported 


70  TWO   PICTURES. 

more  partially  of  Hugh,  than  Hugh  would  have  reported 
of  himself.  Desirous  to  complete  his  course  of  study  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  both  that  he  might  lessen  his  pecuniary 
debt  to  my  uncle,  and  that  he  might  hasten  the  time,  when, 
by  the  practice  of  his  profession,  he  should  not  only  win 
independence  for  himself,  but  contribute  also  to  the  comfort 
of  those  he  loved,  he  pursued  his  preparatory  studies  with 
untiring  ardor.  My  words  seem  cold,  as  I  remember  how 
his  sister  Esther's  eyes  grew  moist  and  her  lips  trembled, 
as  she  told  me  how  the  color  our  Southern  sun  had  burned 
into  his  cheeks  paled  away,  and  the  fire  of  his  eye  grew 
dim,  and  his  movements  languid,  as  if  he  were  giving  his 
life  in  exchange  for  the  knowledge  which  was  to  be  power 
— the  power  of  benefitting  others. 

Amid  all  the  degradation,  all  the  squalid  misery  of  this 
our  earth,  it  is  a  pleasant  thought  that  the  pure  eyes  of 
angels  turned  hitherward  see  some  unwritten  epics,  more 
glorious  than  any  that  the  poet's  genius  has  commemo 
rated  ;  some  unconscious  martyrdoms,  whose  silent  suffer 
ing  has  in  it  as  much  of  true  sublimity  as  has  ever  poured 
its  glory  around  the  fagot  and  the  stake. 

Mrs.  Moray  and  Charlie  left  us  two  months  after  Hugh, 
and  one  month  later  still,  my  uncle  and  I  followed  them. 
Oh,  that  parting  from  my  home !  How  I  lingered  on  the 
beach  that  last  evening  !  how  I  kissed  the  very  turf  in  my 
favorite  walk  under  the  orange  trees  !  Some  of  that  turf, 
so  green  and  soft,  I  brought  away  with  me.  It  is  all 
withered  and  dried  up  long  since,  yet  as  I  press  my  lips  to 
it  even  now,  my  heart  throbs,  and  my  eyes  grow  dim  with 
the  memory  of  what  it  was"  that  day.  And  how  I  sobbed 
myself  to  sleep  that  night  in  the  arms  of  my  poor  Charity, 
whose  tears  dropped  upon  my  cheek,  I  doubt  not,  long  after 
I  slept,  for  we  too  were  to  part.  "  Oh  Times  !  Times !  " 
I  stretch  out  my  arms  across  that  long,  weary  interval 


TWO    PICTURES.  71 

between  then  and  now,  and  my  heart  aches  with  the  long 
ing  to  draw  back  all  I  lost  that  day — my  home — Mr.  Mor 
timer — Charity. 

Yet  I  was  not  all  sorrowful  at  that  departure,  for  if  I 
was  going  from  St.  Mary's,  I  was  going  to  Hugh,  and  I  was 
to  see  his  home,  and  his  beautiful  mother  and  his  sisters, 
and  like  him,  I  was  to  be  a  student,  for  four  years,  my  uncle 
said,  and  I  was  to  learn  to  paint  glorious  pictures,  of  which 
I  sometimes  dreamed ;  and  in  my  dreams,  there  was  the 
softly  blue  southern  sky,  and  the  white  beach,  on  which 
dashed  the  great,  foam-crested  waves,  and  under  the  sky, 
and  on  the  beach,  and  sometimes  borne  toward  me  on 
those  great  waves,  was  ever  one  form,  one  earnest,  kind 
face — and  the  form  and  the  face  were  Hugh's. 

This  record,  originally  intended  only  as  a  picture  of  my 
early  home,  in  all  its  aspects,  varied  as  no  pencil  could 
vary  it — giving  all  its  changes  from  storm  to  calm,  from 
fragrant  morn  to  dewy  eve,  from  the  stern  and  almost 
gloomy  constraint  within,  to  the  brightness  and  the  freedom 
without, — this  record  should  close  here  with  my  parting 
from  St.  Mary's  Isle ;  but  in  the  dearth  of  human  com 
panionship,  I  have  learned  to  love  the  employment  in  which  I 
can  pour  out  my  soul,  though  it  be  but  to  these  lifeless  pages. 
It  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  confided  the  gladness 
or  the  sorrow  of  my  soul  to  inanimate  objects  ;  but  then,  the 
sea  seemed  to  give  me  back  my  exulting  shout — the  winds 
to  answer  with  their  wail  to  my  wild  cry,  and  I  could  cheat 
myself  into  the  belief  of  sympathy,  even  from  these  "  mute 
ministries  of  nature."  Here  all  is  lifeless ;  and  yet,  as  I 
turn  to  the  dead  past,  it  looks  not  at  me  with  such  a  fixed 
and  stony  gaze  from  these  pages,  as  from  the  grave  in  which 
I  strive  in  vain  to  bury  it. 

Hugh  met  us  in  New  York,  and  went  with  us  to 
Elizubethtown.  My  uncle  drove  to  a  hotel,  left  our  bag- 


72  TWO   PICTURES. 

gage  there,  and  then  we  called,  under  Hugh's  guidance,  at 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray's.  Here  the  unusual  luxury  dazzled 
my  childish  eyes,  and  yet  there  was  no  vulgar  glare.  The 
coloring  was  rich,  yet  subdued,  the  forms  chaste  arid  ele 
gant  ;  still,  it  had  not  to  me  a  home-like  look.  Very  differ 
ent  was  that  home  to  which  Hugh  and  Charlie  next  accom 
panied  us.  The  house  might  once  have  been  a  farm  house, 
so  rudely  simple  was  its  style  of  architecture.  It  stood 
now  as  it  had  stood  within  its  surrounding  fields  in  former 
times.  The  fields  had  become  a  part  of  the  city.  There 
were  brick  pavements  now  where  once  there  had  been 
grassy  meadows,  and  rows  of  houses  where  once  the  clover 
had  scented  the  air,  or  the  harvests  of  yellow  grain  had 
waved.  But  still  the  great  elms  stretched  their  protecting 
arms  above  the  old  house,  which  stood  back  from  the  street, 
with  its  little  plot  of  flowers  in  front,  its  porch  covered 
with  climbing  roses,  now  all  in  bloom,  and  the  parlor  win 
dows  draped  with  honeysuckles.  We  entered  the  parlor, 
and  I  think  we  both  felt  at  once  it  was  a  home,  simple  and 
sweet.  I  cannot  describe  it,  familiar  as  its  aspect  after 
ward  became  to  me — there  was  nothing  to  describe.  I 
only  know  that  it  seemed  like  rest  and  peace.  Cool  and 
shaded  it  was,  with  no  bright  thing  in  it  except  the  flowers 
in  old-fashioned  china  vases,  which  decked  the  mantle  shelf. 
We  were  not  expected,  for  my  uncle  had  not  permitted 
Hugh  to  announce  our  arrival,  and  as  the  front  door  was 
open,  we  entered  the  hall,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
tableau  in  the  room  on  our  right,  before  we  were  per 
ceived. 

What  a  picture  it  was — the  stately  lady,  with  her  beau 
tiful,  Madonna  lace,  the  hair  yet  black  and  glossy  as  in 
youth,  the  dress  so  simple,  yet  so  marked  with  refinement. 
And  the  young  sisters,  one  a  year  or  two  older  than  Hugh 
— how  very  old  she  seemed  to  me  then—  I  thought  of  her 


TWO    riCTUEES.  7o 

as  her  mother's  sister.  The  other  was  about  my  own  age. 
The  elder,  Esther,  was  not  beautiful — indeed,  she  would 
probably  be  considered  plain — but  for  the  plainness  of  her 
features  she  atoned  by  a  countenance  of  thoughtful  intelli 
gence,  and  by  a  neatness  of  dress  which  satisfied  the  most 
fastidious  eye.  On  a  footstool  at  her  mother's  feet,  sat  the 
bright-eyed,  curly-headed  pet  of  the  family,  Lily,  reading 
aloud.  It  was  but  a  moment's  glimpse  we  had.  Hugh 
stepped  quickly  forward,  saying,  "  Mamma,  Mr.  Moray,  of 
St.  Mary's." 

Mrs.  Captain  Moray,  raising  her  graceful  head,  per 
ceived  us,  and  coming  forward,  welcomed  the  strangers 
\vith  a  union  of  quiet  dignity  and  genial  kindness  that  I 
know  now,  as  I  remember  it,  must  have  charmed  my  uncle. 
I  am  surprised  to  find  how  vividly  these  pictures  have 
impressed  themselves  upon  my  memory.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  no  single  trait  in  all  our  future  intercourse  ever 
seemed  incongruous  with  the  impressions  of  that  hour. 
There  are  no  cross  lines  blurring  their  clear,  distinct  out 
lines. 

How  grateful  I  was  to  my  uncle  for  consenting  to  Mrs. 
Moray's  request,  that  he  would  leave  me  in  that  sweet  home ! 
How  dear  is  the  memory  of  those  bright  summer  weeks  ! 
Hugh  and  Charlie  were  both  gone  with  my  uncle,  and  by 
his  invitation,  to  travel  through  the  Northern  and  Eastern 
States,  and  into  Canada.  And  I  scarcely  missed  them,  living 
in  Hugh's  home,  with  Hugh's  sisters  and  mother.  Mother ! 
There  I  learned  all  the  dignity  and  all  the  tenderness 
of  that  name.  When  Mrs.  Moray's  hand  rested,  as  it 
sometimes  did,  caressingly  on  my  head,  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
indeed  found  a  mother,  and  but  for  a  strange  diffidence  with 
which  she  had  inspired  me,  I  would  have  thrown  myself  in 
her  arms  and  told  her  so.  I  loved  Lily,  and  venerated 
Esther  almost  as  much  as  I  did  her  mother.  And  she 


4  TWO   PICTURES. 

deserved  it,  for  the  perfect  propriety  of  her  manners,  her 
unvarying  neatness,  her  conscientious  perseverance  in  what* 
ever  she  esteemed  a  duty,  and  her  ready  surrender  of  her 
own  pleasures  for  the  gratification  of  others.  I  have  seen 
her  plain  features  lit  by  the  glow  of  feeling,  till  they  became 
almost  beautiful,  as  she  pleaded  for  permission  to  take  her 
mother's  place  in  the  performance  of  some  necessary  task  at 
home,  that  the  dear  mother  herself  might  be  free  to  accept 
some  proffered  recreation.  There  was  much  that  was  new 
to  me  in  this  family  life,  so  regular,  so  self-governed,  so 
harmonious. 

"  Remember  that  this  is  your  Northern  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Moray,  on  the  day  I  left  her  to  enter  the  school 
chosen  for  me  in  New  York. 

I  did  remember  it,  and  my  holidays  were  all  spent 
there.  Bright  and  pleasant  were  these  holidays.  Their 
very  memory  brings  a  flush  of  pleasure  to  my  cheeks,  as  I 
recall  the  bounding  of  my  heart,  when  I  was  told  that  Hugh 
was  waiting  for  me  in  the  parlor  ;  then  came  the  walk  with 
him  to  the  boat,  the  sail  up  the  Hackensack,  the  drive 
through  the  woods,  the  loving  greetings  from  the  dear  ones 
at  home — each  of  which,  singly,  was  enough  to  make  the 
happiness  of  a  day  to  the  lonely  child,  thirsting  for  love  and 
for  freedom.  Ah  me  !  Two  homes  lost ! 

I  shall  say  nothing  of  my  school  life.  It  was,  on  the 
whole,  happy,  but  it  was  not  picturesque  ;  it  had  its  lights 
and  its  shadows,  doubtless  ;  but  in  the  glow  and  the  tem 
pest  which  succeeded,  they  were  obliterated.  It  was  in  the 
second  year  of  my  school  life,  when  I  was  about  fourteen, 
that  dear  Captain  Moray  returned  from  his  cruise  on  the 
African  coast.  At  first,  his  presence  threw  a  shadow  on 
the  brightness  of  my  days  at  Elizabethtown.  He  was 
himself  very  grave  and  silent,  and  others  became  grave  and 
silent  in  his  presence ;  but,  child  as  I  was,  I  soon  saw  and 


TWO    PICTURES.  75 

loved,  as  all  capable  of  one  generous  emotion  must  have  loved 
the  nature  at  once  so  child-like  and  so  manly,  the  quick, 
generous  sympathies,  the  open  truthfulness,  incapable  of  dis 
guise,  and  never  suspecting  it  in  another,  the  more  than 
womanly  tenderness  and  delicacy,  the  more  than  manly 
courage  and  sense,  which  formed  the  rare,  if  not  unique 
combination  of  qualities  in  his  character.  Dear  old  friend  ! 
father  as  he  would  have  had  me  call  him  !  My  cold,  dead 
heart  throbs  still  with  a  little  life  as  I  name  him.  He  was 
never  cold  to  me  !  He  was  very  unlike  his  son  in  appear 
ance, — indeed,  Esther  was  the  only  one  of  his  children  who 
at  all  resembled  him  in  features.  Hugh  towered  above 
him  in  height  full  half  a  head,  though  part  of  that  was  lost 
to  Captain  Moray  by  a  habit  of  stooping.  His  hair  was 
gray,  yet  it  still  retained  the  curl  I  had  admired  in  the 
brown  locks  which  Esther  had  shown  me,  as  having  been 
cut  from  his  head  some  years  before.  I  have  said  that  he 
was  grave  and  silent,  yet  when  he  laughed,  it  was  with  an 
entire  abandonment  to  the  pleasurable  sensation,  such  as 
we  rarely  hear  after  childhood,  and  when  his  sympathies 
were  aroused  by  another's  sorrow,  or  his  heart  touched  by 
a  noble  or  a  tender  trait,  tears,  which  his  manhood  often 
strove  to  hide,  rushed  to  his  eyes  as  quickly  as  to  a 
woman's. 

And  mine  are  flowing  as  I  write.  My  pictures  are 
growing  sad — sad  even  as  my  present ;  they  bring  me  no 
relief — I  will  have  done  with  them.  Even  Charlie's  merry 
face  comes  back  to  me,  shadowed  with  the  gloom  which  it 
wore  under  the  constraints  of  West  Point,  where,  after  much 
opposition  on  his  part,  my  uncle  had  placed  him,  and 
whither  I  once  accompanied  his  mother,  during  my  summer 
vacation,  to  see  him,  or  with  a  deeper  shadow  still  upon  his 
face  and  life. 

I  have  welcomed  these  glowing  pictures  of  the  past,  as 


«0  TWO   PICTURES. 

the  one  excitement  of  my  life.  In  my  few  hours  of  leisure, 
I  have  locked  my  door  upon  the  outer  world,  and  said  to 
them,  "  Come  !  "  though  each  as  it  passes,  plants  a  barbed 
sting  within  my  heart — "  come  !  better  the  keen  pang  that 
tells  of  life,  than  this  'waveless  calm  ' — this  torpor  allied  to 
death."  But  I  overestimated  my  strength  ;  there  are  some 
things  I  dare  not  face — some,  from  whose  shadowy  forms, 
half  revealed,  half  shrouded  in  the  dark  veil  of  mystery,  I 
shrink.  No  !  I  will  write  no  more.  Here  I  leave  these 
pages  ;  I  will  not  destroy  them,  but  I  will  place  them  under 
a  seal  which  shall  not  be  removed  till  the  hand  that  traces 
these  characters  moulders  in  dust — unless  the  future  shall 
withdraw  the  veil  from  the  past.  The  future  !  what  future 
is  there  when  hope  is  dead  ?  The  past !  it  is  lost  to  me, 
since  I  dare  not  awaken  its  memories.  Henceforth,  my  life 
moves  on  under  leaden  clouds,  and  through  dreary  mists 
which  close  around  it,  narrowing  its  horizon  to  that  space 
on  which  it  stands  at  each  succeeding  moment.  "  Live  in 
your  duties,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  when  I  said  to 
her  that  I  had  neither  hope  nor  memory  left  to  me. 

Duties !  a  cold  life,  indeed  !  Well,  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  freezing  to  death.  But  I  must  go  farther  from  Elizabeth- 
town.  My  poor,  weak  heart  still  throbs,  tears  still  start  to 
my  eyes  when  I  think  of  the  kind  old  Commodore.  How 
tender  was  our  last  parting  ! 

And  now  they  tell  me  he  is  wounded  ; — if— if— but,  no 
— he  will  get  well  again.  The  honors  he  craved,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  his  loved  ones,  are  his,  and  he  will  be  hap 
pier.  Tic  will  forget  me — and  better  so — I  should  only 
trouble  him  now.  Forget  him  I  never  shall !  Thank  God ! 
I  can  remember  him  without  a  pang.  Into  that  well- 
spring  no  bitterness  has  been  infused.  I  know  he  loves  me. 
I  think  he  will  sorrow  for  me,  but  he  will  be  comforted. 


CIIAPTEE    III. 

"  I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honor  more." — LOVELACE. 

THE  manuscript,  withdrawn  from  the  oblivion  to  which 
it  had  been  thus  determinately  consigned,  in  a  manner  to  be 
hereafter  made  known  to  the  reader,  has  acquainted  us  with 
the  childhood  of  Augusta  Moray.  How  the  proud,  passion 
ate  nature,  springing  to  meet  the  lightest  touch  of  tender 
ness,  recoiling  with  scorn  from  the  approach  of  falsehood 
however  veiled,  turning  from-  the  hopes  which  had  faded  as 
a  dream,  only  to  pour  the  glowing  light  of  a  free,  strong 
spirit  upon  hopes  that  might  prove  as  unsubstantial  as 
they, — how  this  nature  could  have  sunk  into  the  "  wave- 
less  calm  "  described  in  the  last  page,  it  shall  be  our  task 
to  unfold. 

Six  years  of  a  school  girl's  busy  life  had  passed  happily 
orer  Augusta.  Her  inquiring  mind  had  found  delight  in 
exploring  the  varied  paths  through  God's  wondrous  uni 
verse  which  lay  open  before  her.  Yet  true  to  that  quality 
in  woman,  from  which  springs  at  once  her  weakness  and 
her  strength,  her  mind  drew  half  its  power  from  her  heart. 
She  passed  the  last  Saturday  and  Sunday  of  every 
month,  as  well  as  the  weeks  of  her  summer  vacation,  at 
Elizabethtown,  and  she  well  knew  the  pleased  smile  with 


78  TWO   PICTURES. 

which  Hugh  would  greet  every  new  acquisition  she 
made. 

And  what  had  these  years  brought  to  Hugh  ?  lie  had 
graduated,  studied  law,  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  now 
life  was  at  a  standstill  with  him.  The  full  tide  of  action 
which  had  swept  him  so  far  on  toward  the  fulfilment  of  his 
hopes,  was  suddenly  checked.  Well !  he  had  expected 
this  ;  he  must  "  bide  his  time."  Waiting  was  as  much  a 
preparation  for  life  as  action  was.  So  hopeful,  so  strong  of 
spirit  he  was,  and  none  ever  knew  that  he  was  otherwise. 
Months — a  year  passed — the  slow  passing  weeks  grew  into 
months  again,  and  the  receipts  from  Hugh's  practice  at  law, 
had  scarcely  done  more  than  clothe  him.  He  grew  more 
quiet — though  quiet  he  had  always  been  in  manner — more 
concentrated  in  thought.  It  was  such  a  change  as  might 
come  over  a  man,  who,  having  entered  upon  a  conflict,  finds 
the  strength  of  his  antagonist  greater  than  he  had  supposed. 
He  does  not  yield,  he  does  not  even  doubt,  but  he  watches 
more  warily,  addresses  himself  to  his  task  with  more  entire- 
ness  of  purpose  and  with  more  force  of  will.  It  was  at 
some  time  in  this  second  year  of  Hugh's  independent  life, 
that  Augusta  Moray  began  to  feel  or  fancy  some  difference 
in  his  manner  toward  her.  With  all  the  frankness  of  a 
child,  and  the  confidence  of  one  who  never  doubted  his 
interest  in  her,  she  asked  at  once,  "  What  is  the  matter, 
Hugh?  Have  I  done  or  said  anything  to  hurt  you.  ?  " 

Hugh  colored  as  he  answered  with  a  quick  disclaimer, 
"  Not  at  all ;  what  could  make  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  " 

"  Because  something  is  the  matter  with  you,  and  it  is 
not  at  all  like  you  to  deny  it." 

"  I  did  not  deny  it,  Augusta ;  my  reply  was  addressed 
to  the  latter  part  of  your  question,  whether  you  had  said 
or  done  anything  to  hurt  me." 

"  Then  somebody  has  vexed  you — I  knew  it." 


TWO   PICTURES.  71) 

"  You  mistake — nobody  has  vexed  me." 

"  Then  what  is  it,  Hugh  ?  I  shall  think  you  very 
unkind  if  you  do  not  tell  me,"  Augusta  added,  after  a  mo 
ment's  pause,  during  which  Hugh  remained  silent. 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  my  child,"  he  said,  gently, 
looking  into  the  clear  brown  eyes  that  were  fixed  upon  his 
face  ;  "  nothing  but  the  old  story — as  old  as  man  himself — 
of  manhood  awakening  from  the  dreams  of  the  boy,  and  sor 
rowing  to  see  his  beautiful  bubbles  breaking." 

Hugh's  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  sort  of  bitter 
ness,  in  which  an  experienced  ear  might  have  recognized  ihe 
tone  of  one  who  scorned  himself,  either  for  his  past  credu 
lity,  or  for  his  present  sorrow. 

"What  bubble  is  it,  Hugh?  Can  we  not  do  as  the 
children  do — blow  another  bubble  in  its  place  ?  " 

"  Of  course ;  that  is  the  approved  mode,  and  we  shall 
do  as  others  do  ;  but  no  bubble  will  ever  take  the  place  of 
that,  Augusta." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  how  can  I  know  when  you  will  not  tell 
me  what  it  was ;  I  dare  say,  if  I  only  knew,  I  could  blow 
you  up  one  twice  as  /landsome." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  What  if  this  carried  away  with  it 
my  hope  of  early  independence — of  honorable  standing 
among  my  fellow  men,  and  of  that  home — that  simple  yet 
beautiful  home,  for  so  I  had  pictured  it — to  which  you  had 
promised  to  come  when  it  was  ready  for  you !  " 

A  flush  suffused  Augusta's  face,  and  her  eyes  drooped 
beneath  Hugh's  earnest  look.  He  remembered  well  the 
clear,  frank,  childish  face  that  had  been  turned  calmly  to 
his  when  the  promise  to  which  he  had  referred  was  given, 
and  his  heart  beat  more  quickly,  and  more  passionate  feel 
ing  made  his  voice  unsteady,  as  he  said,  "  You  do  not 
answer  me.  You  cannot  promise  to  replace  such  a  bub* 
ble." 


80  TWO    PICTURES. 

The  flush  grew  deeper  on  her  cheeks,  but  she  lifted  her 
eyes — he  saw  it  was  with  an  effort — and  said,  speaking 
rapidly,  "  I  do  not  care  for  bubble  houses.  1  want  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  my  home  at  St.  Mary's,  or — or  yours 
at  Elizabethtown." 

Hugh  made  no  rejoinder,  and  neither  he  nor  Augusta 
ever  recurred  to  the  subject.  From  this  time,  she  felt, 
with  a  pained  feeling,  to  which  she  dared  not  give  a  name 
or  assign  a  cause,  that  a  change  had  passed  over  their  rela 
tions  to  each  other.  Always  kind  to  her,  manifesting  some 
times  when  she  least  expected  it,  watchfulness  of  her  com 
fort,  Hugh  no  longer  showed  a  desire  to  appropriate  her 
in  any  degree  to  himself.  He  was  always  too  much 
engaged  to  come  for  her — often  prevented  by  important 
business  from  seeing  her  for  more  than  an  hour  during  her 
monthly  visits  to  his  home.  Twice  he  absented  himself 
altogether,  sending  her,  in  a  note  to  his  mother,  an  apology 
for  his  seeming  rudeness.  The  second  time  that  this  was 
done,  Augusta  had  felt  so  sure  of  seeing  him,  so  sure  that 
he  would  be  as  kind  as  of  old,  or  even  kinder,  after  so  loncc 

*  /  o 

a  separation,  that  the  disappointment  was  too  great  to  be 
borne  with  perfect  quietude.  She  had  some  reason  to  fear 
that  Captain  Moray  at  least  read  an  emotion  which  pride 
and  girlish  shame  urged  her  to  conceal,  for  as  she  tried  in 
vain  to  twinkle  away  the  tears  that  would  come,  and  to 
steady  the  lips  that  quivered  with  an  unuttered  cry,  she 
felt  his  hand  laid  caressingly  on  her  head,  and  when  she 
bade  him  "good  night,"  she  felt  or  fancied  that  there 
was  peculiar  tenderness  in  the  fatherly  kiss  which  he 
pressed  upon  her  forehead. 

As  she  was  going  toward  her  room  that  night  her  can 
dle  was  extinguished,  and  she  returned  to  the  parlor  to 
relight  it.  She  had  left  no  one  but  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Moray  there,  and  as  she  drew  near  the  door,  she  caught 


TWO   PICTURES.  81 

their  tones  in  conversation,  with  something  of  earnest 
ness  in  their  expression  which  made  her  pause  with  the 
fear  that  her  entrance  might  be  an  inopportune  interruption. 
As  she  hesitated,  these  words  reached  her  ear  from  Captain 
Moray  :  "  Poor  child  !  I  cannot  bear  to  see  her  suffer ; 
but  Hugh  is  right — quite  right;  he  could  not,  with  honor, 
act  otherwise." 

With  that  quick  intuition  which  in  matters  of  feeling 
supplies  the  place  of  reason,  and  that  with  a  precision  which 
reason  never  knew,  she  at  once  appropriated  to  herself  the 
"  poor  child  !  "  which  would  just  as  well  have  suited  Lily, 
or  some  other.  But  neither  then,  nor  ever,  had  she  a  doubt 
that  she  was  meant,  and  turning,  with  rapid  yet  cautious 
steps,  she  threaded  the  halls,  ascended  the  stairs,  and  lock 
ing  herself  into  her  darkened  room,  threw  herself,  dressed 
as  she  was,  upon  the  bed,  and  wept  through  many  hours  of 
the  long  night.  Those  were  tears  rather  of  shame  than 
grief,  or  if  grief  there  were  in  them,  it  was  for  a  present 
disappointment.  A  lasting  estrangement  from  Hugh  \va*» 
too  large  a  sorrow  to  find  entrance  yet  into  her  child  heart. 
It  would  have  burst  with  the  effort  to  entertain  it. 

Captain  Moray  had  said  that  Hugh  was  right !  "  Of 
course  he  was — when  was  he  wrong  ?  "  that  he  had  acted 
honorably — "  how  could  he  act  otherwise  ?  but  it  was  very 
provoking,  nevertheless,  to  be  treated  so,  and  Hugh  should 
be  as  sorry  for.  it  as  she  was  before  she  made  it  up  with 
him." 

Such  was  the  somewhat  contradictory  tenor  of  her 
thoughts,  and  then  she  fell  asleep  with  tears  still  upon  her 
cheeks,  and  dreamed  that  Hugh  came  and  kissed  them  off 
as  he  had  done  when  she  was  a  little  child,  and  laying  her 
head  upon  his  bosom,  soothed  her  into  deeper  slumbers. 
Poor  child,  indeed  ! 

Charlie  Moray,   somewhat    earlier  than  this,   had  pre- 


82  TWO    FICTUEKS. 

vailed  u[)on  his  mother  to  sanction  his  withdrawal  from 
West  Point,  which  he  had  entered  with  great  reluctance. 
Its  discipline  had  been  intolerable  to  his  self-indulgent 
nature,  so  fretting  and  wearing  it,  that  his  thin  frame  and 
pale  cheeks  made  an  irresistible  appeal  to  the  sympathies 
of  his  mother  and  Augusta,  on  his  return  home.  Captain 
Moray,  it  is  true,  looked  gravely  upon  him,  and  said  it  was 
a  pity  to  have  wasted  two  such  important  years ;  but 
Charlie  cared  little  for  his  disapprobation.  Only  one  thing 
seemsd  to  trouble  him — what  would  Mr.  Moray  of  St. 
Mary's  say  ?  He  evinced  such  anxiety  on  this  subject,  that 
Augusta  offered  to  exert  such  influence  as  she  might  have  in 
his  favor.  It  was  a  generous  offer,  for  it  cost  her  no  slight 
effort  to  depart  from  the  stereotyped  form  of  monthly  let 
ter,  in  which  she  informed  her  uncle  of  her  health,  her 
progress  in  study,  &c.,  and  to  rise  to  such  an  interchange 
of  feeling  and  thought  with  him  as  might  really  be  termed 
a  correspondence.  She  awaited  his  answer  with  many 
dou'jts.  Would  he  think  her  too  bold  ? — if  he  did,  what 
would  he  say  ? — or  would  the  penalty  of  her  audacity  be  to 
suffer  the  mortification  of  being  unanswered  1  Her  doubts 
did  not  continue  long.  In  a  shorter  time  than  usual  the 
answer  came.  She  opened  it  not  without  fear.  It  was 
unusually  kind.  There  was  something  in  it,  which  really 
looked  like  a  desire  to  relieve  her  solicitude  respecting 
Charlie's  health.  As  to  Charlie's  fear  of  having  displeased 
him,  he  said  :  "  Tell  your  cousin  Charles  that  I  cannot  be 
angry  with  OTIC  whose  actions  I  have  no  right,  and  he  must 
excuse  me  if  I  add,  after  the  vacillation  he  has  shown,  no 
inclination  to  control.  He  is  a  pleasant  boy,  and  I  shall 
always  be  glad  to  give  him  a  hunt  at  St.  Mary's  ;  but  advise 
him  from  me,  to  study  Jacob's  sentence  on  his  sen  Keuben : 
K '  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel.'" 

This  correspondence  had  really  brought  Mr.  Moray  and 


TWO    PICTURES.  63 

his  niece  nearer  together,  than  anything  which  immediately 
concerned  either  of  them  could  have  done.  We  have  seen 
that  the  admiration  with  which  she  regarded  him  in  her 
childhood  seemed  to  herself  nearly  akin  to  affection,  and 
we  cannot  believe  that  he  was  really  without  a  warm,  even 
a  loving  interest,  for  the  orphan  girl  whom  he  had  reared, 
though  the  coldness  and  reserve  of  his  manner  had  been 

O 

deepened  to  her  by  her  association  with  the  disappointment 
of  his  cherished  hopes  in  respect  to  the  perpetuation  of  his 
name  in  the  country  of  his  adoption.  His  slight  unbend 
ing  in  the  letter  to  which  we  have  alluded,  aroused  a  new 
interest  in  Augusta's  heart.  She  could  not  venture  on  the 
expression  of  this  interest  to  Mr;  Moray  himself,  but  she 
said  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  with  whom  her  corre 
spondence  was  far  more  intimate  and  more  full :  "  Do  tell 
me  something  of  my  uncle  ;  is  he  as  young — in  appearance 
I  mean,  of  course — as  handsome,  as  active,  as  when  I  left 
him  ?  When  do  you  think  he  will  let  me  come  back  to  St. 
Mary's  ?  I  think  that,  without  being  troublesome,  I  could 
do  many  things  now  which  would  make  home  pleasanter 
to  him.  For  one  thing,  he  loves  music,  and  I  do  not  play 
budly." 

Whether  Mr.  Mortimer  showed  these  sentences  to  his 
friend,  we  know  not ;  but  very  soon  afterward  Mr.  Moray 
began  to  speak  of  coming  North  the  next  summer,  and  of  hav 
ing  Augusta  return  with  him  in  the  autumn.  The  time  was 
past  when  Augusta  would  have  sought  an  opportunity  of  com 
municating  this  to  Hugh  alone,  before  she  spake  of  it  to  others. 
Yet  she  was  no  less  anxious  to  know  how  it  would  affect 
him,  and  obtaining  permission  from  her  kind  instructress, 
she  went  to  Elizabethtown  under  the  care  of  a  faithful  ser 
vant,  on  a  Saturday  when  she  was  not  expected.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  that  Augusta  had  frankly  acknowledged 
her  motive  for  this,  even  to  herself.  Oh  no  !  she  was  very 


84  TWO   PICTURES. 

desirous  to  consult  her  friend,  Mrs.  Moray,  on  the  best 
course  of  study  during  the  remaining  months  of  her  school 
life,  or  on  her  reply  to  her  uncle,  or  some  other  very 
proper  and  young  lady  like  reason  ;  but  she  was  none  the 
less  pleased,  none  the  less  conscious  that  the  chief  object  of 
her  visit  was  accomplished,  when  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  Hugh,  little  suspecting  whom  he  should  meet 
there,  entered  the  room.  She  had  time  to  notice  that  his 
face  was  pale  and  his  movements  languid,  before  his  glance 
rested  on  her,  and  the  pale  face  flushed,  and  he  hurried 
eagerly  forward  with  joy  dancing  in  his  eyes.  Hugh  had 
forgotten  himself,  but  Augusta,  who  had  dreamed  only  of 
this  moment  all  day,  who  had  in  thought  rehearsed  her  part 
again  and  again,  though  her  very  heart  quivered  with  the 
long  untasted  joy  of  his  presence,  was  able  to  assume  her 
intended  air  of  nonchalance,  and  even  to  utter  the  words  of 
surprise  at  meeting  him,  which  she  had  conned  for  the 
occasion.  But  oh  !  the  unsteady,  tremulous  voice  in  which 
they  came.  She  fancied  it  was  her  cold  manner  which  sent 
him  away  to  his  own  room  that  evening,  to  study,  as  he 
said,  some  difficult  case.  Poor  child  again  !  She  dreamed 
not  that  those  tremulous  tones,  that  quivering  hand  had 
sent  him  away  with  a  fire  in  his  heart,  which  he  feared 
would  make  him  unable  to  preserve  in  her  presence  the 
tranquillity  of  manner  he  had  prescribed  to  himself. 

The  following  evening,  Sunday,  Charlie  carno  in  after 
toa.  He  was  always  welcome ;  but  his  fine  tenor  voice 
made  him  a  great  acquisition  on  Sunday  evening,  when 
Captain  Moray  always  asked  for  sacred  music.  Augusta 
played,  and  added  her  rich  contralto  to  the  pure  soprano  of 
Mrs.  Moray,  the  deep  bass  of  Hugh,  and  the  full,  soft  tenor 
of  Charlie.  The  afternoon  had  been  cloudy  and  blustering, 
and  toward  evening,  a  little  snow  had  fallen,  probably  the 
last  of  the  winter,  as  it  was  now  late  in  April,  and  spring 


TWO   PICTURES.  85 

rams  had  already  softened  the  frosty  earth.  As  Augusta 
rose  from  the  piano,  she  approached  a  window,  expecting 
to  see  the  same  gloomy  sky  with  which  the  day  had  closed 
in  ;  instead  of  this,  the  moon  had  risen,  and  at  that  mo 
ment  was  pouring  a  flood  of  light  through  the  rifts  of  a 
cloud,  whose  jagged  edges  gleamed  golden  in  her  rays.  As 
she  looked  up  admiringly,  Charlie  followed  her,  and  ex 
claimed,  "  The  moon  is  shining,  and  the  snow  is  done !  no 
hope  for  a  sleigh  ride  to-morrow,  Lily." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  Lily,  coming  up,  and  send 
ing  her  bright  glances  out  into  the  night. 

*'  You  insatiable  snowbird  !  "  said  Charlie  ;  "  did  you 
ever  have  sleighing  enough,  Lily  ?  " 

"  Often,"  she  replied,  trying  to  look  dignified — a  diffi 
cult,  if  not  impossible  achievement,  with  her  petite  form 
and  lovely  baby  face.  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself  at 
all ;  I  wanted  Augusta  to  have  all  the  sleighing  she  could 
this  winter,  as  it  will  be  her  last." 

"  Her  last !  What  do  you  mean  by  such  a  tragical 
announcement  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  anything  tragical  in  saying  that  one  is  not 
likely  to  have  any  more  sleighing,"  said  Lily,  a  little  tartly, 
for  she  thought  Charlie  was  laughing  at  her,  and  she  was  at 
the  age  most  susceptible  to  the  horrors  of  such  a  suspicion. 

"  So — it  was  the  last  sleighing,  and  not  the  last  winter 
you  were  predicting  for  Augusta ;  but  why  should  she  not 
have  sleighing  another  winter  ?  " 

"  Because  her  uncle  is  to  take  her  home  next  fall,  and 
she  is  not  likely,  I  think,  to  have  sleighing  at  St.  Mary's." 

"  You  are  going  home  !  "  cried  Charlie,  turning  with 
animation  to  Augusta ;  "  how  I  wish  I  were  going  with 
you  \ " 

"Well!  why  should  you  not?  You  know  my  uncle 
said  he  would  be  glad  to  have  you  take  a  hunt  with  him — • 


86  TWO    PICTURES. 

that  is  equivalent  to  an  invitation,  for  he  never  hunts  except 
at  St.  Mary's." 

"Come,  Hugh  !  cut  the  law  next  winter,  and  let  us  go 
to  St.  Mary's,  ride  rough  ponies,  and  shoot  fat,  lazy  deer — 
•what  do  you  say  ?  Will  you  come  1  " 

"  There  are  two  objections  to  my  doing  so,"  said  Hugh, 
speaking  so  quietly  that  he  did  not  even  raise  his  eyes  from 
the  book  he  seemed  to  be  reading ;  "  I  have  no  time  and 
no  invitation." 

Augusta,  determined  to  appear  indifferent  to  what  she 
desired  most  earnestly  to  hear,  had  moved  toward  the  door 
while  he  was  speaking,  and  either  her  distance  from  him,  or 
the  slight  rustling  of  her  dress  as  she  moved,  made  his 
words  indistinct,  and  she  mistook  "  no  invitation  "  for  "  no 
inclination."  Stung  by  what  in  her  present  mood  of  feel 
ing,  she  was  ready  to  believe  a  rudeness  especially  aimed 
at  her,  she  opened  the  door,  and,  forgetful  of  every  thing  but 
her  desire  to  escape  from  his  presence,  she  stepped  out 
upon  the  piazza.  In  an  instant,  Hugh  had  sprung  from  the 
table  where  he  sat,  taken  a  large  blanket  shawl  to  the 
piazza,  and  thrown  it  over  her,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  I  do 
not  think  you  are  quite  prudent  to  be  here  at  all,  Augusta ; 
it  is  very  cold." 

"  Do  not  mind  him,  Augusta ;  stay,  and  have  a  walk 
with  me,"  said  Charlie,  who  had  followed  Hugh,  drawing 
her  arm  through  his  as  he  spoke. 

Hugh  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  in  Augusta's  face, 
as  if  waiting  some  rejoinder.  Inconsistent  as  passion  ever 
is,  the  power  he  had  conscientiously  determined  to  make  no 
effort  to  retain,  he  yet  could  not  refrain  from  testing  with 
the  hope  that  he  should  prove  it  undiminished. 

There  was  something  almost  defiant  in  the  curl  of 
Augusta's  haughty  lip,  as,  meeting  his  glance  fully,  she 
passed  her  arm  yet  farther  through  that  of  Charlie,  and 


TWO    riCTUKES.  87 

commenced  her  walk.  Without  a  word,  Hugh  stepped 
back  into  the  parlor.  All  was  very  quiet  there.  Esther 
sat  at  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  reading  by  a 
shaded  lamp,  Mrs.  Moray  had  gone  to  her  room,  Captain 
Moray  sat  in  his  large  arm  chair  dozing,  and  Lily  still  stood 
at  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  bright  moonlight,  and 
the  broken  promise  of  snow.  Hugh,  stepping  lightly,  not 
to  arouse  his  father,  paced  the  little  parlor  to  and  fro. 
He  was  taking  himself  to  task  for  his  departure  from  a 
decision  adopted  upon  principle.  He  had  just  found  an 
excuse  for  himself,  in  the  fact  that  Augusta  had  lately  had  a 
very  troublesome  cough,  and  that  her  delicacy  of  form 
might  well  make  her  friends  anxious  to  guard  her  from 
exposure  to  anything  that  might  cause  its  recurrence,  when 
Lily  exclaimed,  "  Where  are  Chai'lie  and  Augusta  going?" 
and  looking  over  her  shoulder,  Hugh  saw  them  with  uncov 
ered  heads  running  through  the  light,  inch  deep  snow,  across 
the  yard.  "  And  Augusta  has  nothing  but  kid  slippers  on," 
said  Lily. 

Could  Hush  have  surmised  that  the  desire  to  test  her 

O 

power  over  his  self  command  had,  however  slightly,  entered 
into  the  inducements  to  this  imprudence,  he  would,  perhaps, 
have  remained  where  he  was,  whatever  had  been  the  con 
sequent  suffering  to  both  of  them.  As  it  was,  Lily  had 
scarcely  spoken,  when  she  saw  Hugh  crossing  the  yard  to 
a  spot  somewhat  in  shadow,  where  Charlie  and  Augusta 
were  now  standing  still.  Charlie  occasionally  stooped  for  a 
moment,  then  rose  to  give  vent  to  his  amusement  in  bursts 
of  laughter,  that  were  heard  even  in  the  parlor.  He  was 
laughing  when  Hugh  reached  them.  It  was  this  probably 
that  so  stirred  his  anger,  for  he  exclaimed,  violently,  "  I  can 
see  no  cause  for  laughter  in  such  absurdity — such  worse  than 
absurdity.  I  presume,  having  done  enough  to  show  your 


88  TWO   PICTURES. 

disregard  of  life,  Augusta,  you  -will  now  be  persuaded  to 
return  to  the  house." 

Augusta  did  not  move,  and  Charlie,  with  another  laugh, 
exclaimed,  "  Hugh  !  my  dear  fellow  !  don't  you  see  she 
can't  move  an  inch  ?  She's  another  Lot's  wife,  or  Daphne, 
rooted  to  the  soil." 

It  was  indeed  so.  This  shaded  spot  was  always  wet. 
The  light  snow  of  the  evening  had  covered  it,  but  through 
that,  Augusta's  slippered  feet  had  come  in  contact  with  the 
tenacious  clay,  and  every  attempt  to  remove  them  was 
vain,  except  at  the  expense  of  leaving  the  slippers  behind 
her.  Vexed  at  Charlie's  laughter,  and  scarcely  less  vexed 
at  Hugh's  observation  of  her  difficulty,  she  determined  at 
any  cost  to  escape  from  them,  and  crying,  "  I  shall  leave 
you  to  take  your  walk  alone,  Charlie,"  with  a  desperate 
effort,  she  freed  her  feet  from  both  shoes  and  mud,  and 
would  have  run  into  the  house  and  up  to  her  own  room, 
hoping  by  the  quickness  of  her  movements  to  escape  obser 
vation  ;  but  she  had  to  do  with  one  quick  to  perceive  and 
to  act,  and  scarcely  had  the  light  glanced  on  her  white 
stockings  before  she  found  Hugh's  arm  encircling  her,  and 
before  she  had  power  to  remonstrate  or  withdraw  from  it, 
she  was  lifted  from  the  ground,  borne  through  the  yard  and 
piazza,  and  set  down  at  the  parlor  door,  with  the  quiet 
words,  "  I  would  advise  you  to  go  to  your  room  and  dry 
your  feet." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  she  needed  no  persuasion  to 
adopt  this  advice.  The  next  morning,  when  she  was  sum 
moned  to  breakfast,  Hugh  had  already  gone  to  his  oflice  in 
Nrw  York,  and  she  was  obliged  herself  to  return  to  the 
city  in  a  few  hours. 

Augusta  had  been  deeply  wounded  in  her  pride,  if  not 
in  a  purer  feeling,  by  the  results  of  this  visit,  and  she 
vowed  a  vow  within  herself,  that  Hugh  should  come  for  her 


TWO  .PICTURES.  OU 

himself,  and  entreat  her  very  earnestly  before  she  would  go 
again.  Six  weeks  passed  by,  and  though  she  had  a  letter 
from  Esther,  urging  her  usual  visit  at  one  time,  and  at 
another,  Captain  Moray  himself  came  for  her ;  she  kept  her 
vow,  finding  at  each  time  a  civil  and  not  untrue  excuse. 
One  day  she  was  called  to  the  parlor  to  receive  a  visitor, 
and  found  Hugh,  not  the  cold,  quiet  Hugh  from  whom  she 
had  parted  last,  but  Hugh  with  more  vivacity  of  manner, 
more  abandon  to  the  feeling  of  the  hour,  than  she  had  ever 
known  in  him,  even  in  his  boyhood.  All  the  conditions  of 
her  vow  were  fulfilled,  and  with  the  permission  of  her 
teacher  she  returned  with  him  to  Elizabethtown.  Her 
sympathy  with  his  joy  was  in  no  small  degree  abated  by 
learning  its  cause.  He  was  in  a  few  days  to  sail  for  Europe 
on  a  commission  which  might  detain  him  there  for  months 
or  even  for  years,  but  whose  successful  termination  could 
scarcely  fail  to  place  wealth  and  professional  honors  within 
his  grasp.  And  Hugh  had  not  a  doubt  of  success.  He  had 
studied  his  case  thoroughly,  and  he  was  assured  of  the 
justice  of  his  cause,  and  fully  convinced  that  somewhere 
there  still  existed  proofs  of  the  right,  recoverable  by  a 
patience  that  would  not  be  exhausted,  and  an  assiduity  that 
would  not  be  wearied.  Hugh  had  faith  in  himself  as  well 
as  in  his  cause. 

Two  days  more  only  were  left  to  Hugh  in  his  home. 
His  preparations  were  completed,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  of  those  little  works  which  mother  and  sisters  delight 
to  perform  for  the  loved  ones.  In  these  Augusta  had 
sought  to  share,  and  she  now  sat,  on  a  warm  June  aftx-r- 
noon,  at  an  open  window  through  which  floated  the  mingled 
odors  of  rose  and  mignonette,  embroidering  the  initials  II. 
M.  on  some  fine  cambric  handkerchiefs. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  low  window,  leaning  on  its  sill, 
.stood  Hugh,  watching  the  taper  fingers  that  moved  so  deftly 


90  TWO   PICTURES. 

in  his  service.  As  Augusta  laid  aside  a  handkerchief, 
Hugh  lifted  it,  looked  at  the  letters,  and  said,  "I  shall 
bring  these  baek  with  me,  whatever  else  1  lose,  and  how 
ever  long  I  stay." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  yet  how  long  that  will  probably 
be," 

"  The  law's  delays,  you  know,  are  proverbial — I  go  for 
six  months,  I  may  not  return  for  two  years." 

"  Two  years  1     Oh,  Hugh  !     And  you  can  be  so  glad  1 " 

He  bent  down  till  the  soft  ringlets  of  her  hair  touched 
his  cheek,  and  said,  in  those  low,  deep  tones  that  bear  a 
heart  throb  in  every  word,  "  Shall  1  tell  you  why  1  am 
glad  ?  " 

No  answer  came ;  but  he  saw  the  lids  that  drooped 
over  the  half  closed  eyes  quiver,  he  saw  the  crimson  flush 
that  mounted  even  to  the  white  temples,,  and  he  added, 
"  Because  I  hope  to  be  ten  years  nearer  that  home  of  which 
I  have  talked  so  often,  and  which  you  have  promised  to 
share.  "W;ill  you  not  repeat  that  promise,  now  that  I  am 
going  so  far  away  ?  What!  not  a  word!  only  say,  'Hugh, 
your  home  shall  be  mine.'  " 

The  trembling  lips  moved,  but  the  words  which  had 
once  been  uttered  so  easily,  would  not  come.  That  sweet 
silence,  more  eloquent  than  speech,  was  broken  by  another 
voice,  and  they  both  started  and  looked  up,  to  see  Captain 
Moray  standing  before  them. 

"  Let  me  answer  for  you,  my  child,"  he  said,  very 
gently,  to  Augusta.  Her  glance  at  him  had  shown  her 
that  even  while  speaking  to  her,  he  was  looking  at  Hugh 
with  an  expression  which  she  did  not  understand.  She 
too  turned  to  Hugh.  He  was  still  more  unintelligible. 
Having  risen  from  the  careless  attitude  in  which  he  had 
been  leaning  over  her,  he  stood  erect,  drawn  up  to  his  full 
six  feet  of  height,  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  chest, 


TWO   PICTURES.  91 

while  a  smile,  good-humored,  yet  with  something  defiant  in 
it  too,  parted  his  lips,  and  shone  in  his  eyes.  The  smile 
died  away,  however,  as  Captain  Moray  continued  :  "  Tell 
Hugh  he  cannot  expect  that  the  woman  should  keep  the 
promise  made  by  the  child,  and  that  a  beauty  and  an 
heiress  would  scarcely  find  her  appropriate  place  in  the 
home  of  a  poor  barrister." 

It  was  not  Hugh,  but  Augusta  who  answered  him,  ve 
hemently,  as  if  a  feeling  akin  to  indignation  had  restored 
the  voice  which  excitement  of  another  kind  had  taken  from 
her. 

"  I  am  neither  a  beauty  nor  an  heiress,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  never  made  a  promise  to  Hugh  that  I  do  not  mean  to 
keep." 

She  was  ready  to  die  with  shame  the  moment  these 
words  were  spoken,  so  bold  they  seemed  to  her.  Unable 
to. meet  the  looks  of  either  father  or  son,  she  hastened  from 
the  parlor  to  her  own  room,  locked  her  door,  and  gave  vent 
to  her  mingled  emotions  in  a  burst  of  tears  which  had  more 
of  gladness  than  of  sorrow  in  them.  Hugh  would  have 
escaped  too,  but  as  he  would  have  turned  away,  Captain 
Moray  said,  "  Do  not  go  away,  Hugh ;  it  is  necessary  that 
we  should  understand  each  other  on  this  subject." 

"  I  have  no  desire  for  any  concealments  from  you,  sir," 
said  Hugh,  overcoming  his  natural  reluctance.  He  sprang 
in  the  window  as  he  spoke,  and  placed  himself  at  his  father's 
side.  For  a  moment  they  looked  steadfastly  and  silently 
each  in  the  other's  face.  In  Hugh's  was  the  strong  resolu 
tion  of  unbroken,  vigorous  manhood,  and  the  hope,  which 
long  repressed,  had  just  burst  into  life — a  life  fuller  and 
more  tenacious  for  the  difficulties  it  had  conquered.  On 
Captain  Moray's  was  the  weariness  of  a  long  struggle  which 
hope  had  ceased  to  cheer.  In  this  very  expression  which 
hiight  have  seemed  significant  of  defeat,  lay  his  power  over 


92  TWO   PICTURES. 

Hugh,  and  not  over  Hugh  only,  but  over  every  one  of  ten 
der  and  generous  heart  that  knew  him.  It  would  not  have 
been  so,  had  not  all  seen  that  the  weariness  was  accom 
panied  by  no  weakness ;  that  there  was  power  unsubdued 
to  struggle  on,  even  though  he  felt  that  the  struggle  must 
end  in  defeat.  Defeat  is  a  wrong  word,  for  such  struggles 
know  no  defeat — they  conquer  even  in  death.  Those  who 
have  ceased  to  strike  for  success,  whom  hope  has  ceased  to 
animate,  are  inspired  by  the  nobler  principle  of  duty,  and 
crowns  of  victory  which  shall  be  immortal  await  the  fol 
lowers  of  this  "  stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God." 

As  he  looked  on  Hugh,  the  habitual  depression  of  Cap 
tain  Moray's  countenance  deepened,  and  he  turned  aside  with 
a  heavy  sigh.  That  sigh  seemed  to  have  wafted  tons  of 
weight  to  Hugh's  heart.  It  sank  like  lead.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  his  father's  shoulder  and  said,  "  What  would  you 
have  me  do,  father  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  I  am  gone,  my  son.  It  will  not  be  long," 
was  the  despondent  reply. 

"  Father,  I  have  waited  till  every  demand  of  honor 
seemed  satisfied  ;  surely  when  I  can  offer  her  an  indepen 
dent  home,  there  can  be  no  reason  why  I  should  wait 
longer.  She  is  now  eighteen — no  longer  a  child." 

"  It  is  not  years  that  make  us  old,  Hugh.  You  are 
older  than  your  twenty -four  years,  and  she — she  is  a  mere 
child — what  does  she  know — what  has  she  seen  of  life? 
And  her  uncle,  Hugh  !  You  have  told  rne  he  was  a  proud 
man  ;  what  plans  for  his  beautiful  heiress — for  the  increase 
of  his  family  wealth  and  influence  through  her,  may  you 
not  be  disappointing.  Oh  Hugh  !  my  son  I  my  son  !  " — 
his  voice  broke — a  deep  sob  heaved  his  bosom,  and  rising 
hastily,  he  turned  away  to  hide  the  emotion  which  he 
could  not  subdue.  Brave  old  veteran  !  His  heart  was 
ever  tender  as  a  woman's  to  another's  woe,  but  never  had 


TWO   PICTURES.  93 

Hugh  seen  him  thus  moved  by  any  personal  consideration. 
He  looked  toward  him  as  he  stood  by  another  window, 
with  his  gray  hairs,  silvered  less  by  age  than  sorrow, 
streaming  on  the  breeze.  Every  hair  seemed  to  Hugh  to 
plead  against  him.  lie  approached,  stood  beside  him  and 
said  again,  "  Father  !  .only  tell  me  what  you  wish.  All 
that  depends  on  me  shall  be  done." 

"  Only  wait  till  I  am  gone,  Hugh,  and  then  do  as  your 
own  ripened  judgment  shall  dictate.  I  have  nothing,  Hugh, 
but  honor.  My  life  has  been  a  failure  in  all  else,  but  my 
honor  I  hoped  to  carry  to  my  grave,  unsullied  by  a  sus 
picion.  Let  not  Mr.  Moray  have  it  in  his  power  to  say, 
that  after  all  he  has  done  for  us — for  us  I  say,  Hugh,  for 
what  was  done  for  you  was  done  for  us  all — let  him  not 
think  that  we  have  solicited  him  to  let  his  niece  make  this 
her  home  while  she  was  at  the  North,  only  that  you  might 
have  a  better  opportunity  of  winning  the  heiress  of  his  for 
tunes." 

';  Father !  Mr.  Moray  will  not  think  so ;  he  is  a  just 
and  generous  man." 

'•  The  more  careful  should  we  be  not  to  deal  with  him 
ungenerously,  Hugh." 

Hugh  turned  away,  and  paced  the  room  with  slow, 
measured  steps.  The  sacrifice  was  too  great ;  besides,  was 
he  not  already  committed  to  Augusta  ?  He  came  back  to 
the  window  and  said  :  "  Father,  is  it  not  too  late  ?  My 
cwn  disappointment  might  be  borne,  but  have  I  not  already 
gone  too  far?  Remember  her  own  words;  after  such  an 
avowal,  is  not  my  honor  irrevocably  bound  ?  " 

"  Hugh,  she  is  but  a  child  ;  it  would  be  most  ungener 
ous  to  her  to  fetter  her  by  promises  before  she  has  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  her  own  mind :  wait,  Hugh, 
you  are  both  young  enough  ;  Avait  till  she  has  the  power  to 
compare  you  with  others  ;  wait  till  you  have  shown  what 


91  T\VO   PICTURES. 

you  are ;  then,  Hugh,  perhaps  you  may  win  her  uncle's 
consent  as  well  as  hers,  and  I — I  will  not  then  stand  in 
your  way,  if  indeed  I  shall  not  before  that  have  left  a 
world  to  which  I  have  been  but  a  burden." 

"  Oh,  father  !  use  not  such  words ;  I  cannot  bear  them. 
I  repeat,  I  will  do  just  what  you  say.  Shall  I  tell  her  what 
you  have  just  said,  and  release  her  from  her  promise  till  I 
have  a  better  right  to  claim  it  ?  " 

"  No,  Hugh  ;  that  would  but  be  to  bind  her  by  a  yet 
stronger  bond  ;  no,  you  must  say  nothing,  not  so  much  as 
by  looks,  that  shall  show  you  are  mindful  of  this  hour.  It 
may  be  that  she  will  forget  it,  or  that  she  will  learn  to 
think  she  gave  a  deeper  significance  to  your  words  than  you 
intended  she  should." 

"  And  can  I  leave  her  to  such  a  doubt  ?  How  base  I 
shall  seem  in  her  eyes  !  " 

"  Better  seem  than  be  base,"  said  Captain  Moray,  with 
emphasis. 

Hugh  flushed  and  turned  away  again  from  his  father ; 
when  he  returned,  it  was  to  say,  "  I  cannot  trust  myself.  I 
must  wait  a  calmer  moment  to  decide  this  question  ;  now 
it  is  impossible.  The  conversation  of  this  afternoon  is  the 
first  step  in  our  intercourse  not  already  confided  to  Mr. 
Moray  and  sanctioned  by  him  ;  but  on  a  point  of  honor,  no 
opinion  could  weigh  with  me  as  yours,  sir — only  that  I 
would  think — but  it  is  needless  to  speak  of  that.  How  I  am 
to  meet  her  with  such  confusion  in  my  mind,  I  know  not. 
I  must  hasten  my  departure ;  1  will  go  to-morrow,  and  this 
evening,  I  will  spend  abroad.  I  have  some  papers  at  the 
office  that  I  intended  to  send  for ;  I  will  go  instead." 

Accordingly,  when  Augusta  that  evening  entered  the 
parlor  where  stood  the  tea  table,  the  timid,  furtive  glance 
she  cast  around  her,  told  her  that  Hugh  was  not  there,  and 
while  she  still  hesitated  whether  to  consider  his  absence  as 


TWO   PICTUKES.  95 

a  relief  or  a  disappointment,  the  information  came,  like  two 
galvanic  shocks,  rapidly  succeeding  each  other,  that  he 
would  not  return  till  very  late  that  evening,  and  that  he 
must  leave  Elizabethtown  for  Boston  at  an  early  hour  the 
next  day. 

Excess  marks  one  phase  of  man's  weakness.  To  keep 
the  unerring  line,  neither  approaching  too  near  that  central 
truth  that  has  arrested,  and  is,  for  the  time,  controlling  us, 
nor  to  fly  off  beyond  its  influence — this  seems  impossible. 
Most  move  around  it  in  a  zigzag  course,  delivering  them 
selves  to  the  force  of  counter  attractions,  till,  startled  by  the 
distance  to  which  they  have  been  led,  fear  drives  them  back 
as  far  in  the  other  direction,  the  passive  slaves  of  impulse. 
A  few  strong  spirits  take  their  observation,  mark  their 
course  and  walk  in  it,  though  every  step  be  planted  on 
sharp  thorns  or  burning  coals.  But  even  these  rarely  find 
the  true  mean.  The  calculations  of  selfishness,  the  gener 
ous  determination  to  tread  every  selfish  desire  in  the  dust, 
alike  mislead.  To  such  natures  as  Hugh  Moray's,  the  dan 
ger  lay  in  the  last  direction.  He  feared  the  decisions  which 
were  in  accordance  with  his  wishes.  This  last  night  at 
home  was  a  sleepless  one  to  him.  He  reviewed  every  step 
of  his  intercourse  with  Augusta  Moray.  In  the  promise  he 
had  asked  and  obtained  as  a  boy,  no  passion  had  entered  ; 
it  was  dictated  by  the  calm,  yet  earnest  affection  of  a 
brother.  He  saw  the  loneliness  of  soul  which,  as  she  grew 

*  o 

older,  would  weigh  more  heavily  upon  her  in  the  home  of 
her  childhood.  He  knew,  of  course,  that  she  could  not  share 
his  home  alone ;  but,  had  the  question  of  propriety  been 
suggested  to  him,  he  would  probably  have  answered,  "  Of 
course,  when  I  have  a  home  to  myself,  I  shall  either  marry, 
or  Esther  will  keep  it  for  me.  In  either  case,  Augusta  will 
be  happier  there,  with  society  suited  to  her  age,  than  she 
can  be  here,  shut  out  from  all  the  world  except  her  uncle 

O 


TWO    PICTURES. 

and  his  friends.     I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Moray  would  readily 
consent  to  give  her  to  us." 

Mrs.  Moray's  sarcastic  suggestions  first  aroused  other 
thoughts  in  his  mind.  They  made  his  communication  to 
Mr.  Moray  of  what  had  passed,  more  difficult,  but  more 
essential.  His  stammering  tongue  and  blushing  face,  cer 
tainly  conveyed  to  Mr.  Moray  more  than  his  words  ex 
pressed  ;  yet  he  received  the  confession  kindly,  praised  the 
honorable  feeling  which  had  prompted  it,  said  he  had  no 
doubt  Hugh,  if  he  were  diligent,  would  achieve  an  early 
independence,  and  as  little  doubt  that  he  would  use  it  hon 
orably,  and  there  he  left  the  subject.  And  Hugh,  as  his 
own  feelings  grew  more  deep  and  passionate,  remembering 
that  their  germs  had  been  already  quickening  in  his  heart 
when  he  had  that  conversation  with  Mr.  Moray,  overlooked 
the  fact  that  they  had  not  been  expressed,  and  felt  as  if  Mr. 
Moray's  silence  had  given  them  his  sanction,  ever  bearing  in 
mind,  nevertheless,  that  the  sanction  depended  upon  his  suc 
cess.  When  he  began  to  doubt  that  success  would  come 
to  him,  he  had  withdrawn  from  Augusta,  that  he  might  not 
be  tempted  to  seek  that  which  he  felt  was  forbidden  to  him 
except  on  that  condition.  And  when  fortune  had  again 
dawned  on  him,  the  feeling  to  which  he  had  refused  indul 
gence,  sprang  into  fuller  life  and  more  decided  manifesta 
tion,  for  its  temporary  repression.  Now,  his  father's  sug 
gestions  pressed  painfully  upon  him.  Had  a  stain  indeed 
fallen  upon  his  honor  ?  Had  he  indeed  given  occasion  to 
Mr.  Moray  to  suspect  him  of  ingratitude — to  brand  him, 
even  in  his  thoughts,  as  a  fortune  hunter?  Again  and  again 
he  travelled  over  the  past,  to  find  an  answer  to  these  ques 
tions.  The  result  was  a  decided  negative  up  to  that  after 
noon  ;  but  there  a  doubt  intruded.  The  attainment,  not  the 
hope  of  success — that  was  the  condition,  and  then  the  con 
sent  was  only  implied  by  Mr.  Moray,  or  inferred  by  him- 


TWO    PICTURES.  97 

self;  ought  he  not  to  have  waited  till  he  could  have  asked  a 
confirmation  of  his  inference  from  that  gentleman  himself, 
before  he  sought  to  create  a  deeper  interest,  or  to  win  for 
himself  a  more  assured  hope  ?  He  was  afraid  he  had  done 
wrong — afraid  that  in  the  glow  of  his  new-born  happiness, 
he  had  become  blind  to  all  that  opposed  him.  To  fear — to 
doubt — was  with  Hugh  Moray,  even  at  this  period  of  his 
life,  only  the  precursor  to  a  sterner  resolve.  He  had  not 
forgotten — after  those  words  whose  remembered  tone 
thrilled  him  even  now  he  could  not  ignore — that  the  bur 
den  of  silence  he  imposed  upon  his  own  heart,  might  weigh 
heavily  upon  another.  That  was  the  heaviest  part  of 
his  trial,  but  at  least  she  knew  his  wishes — he  would  do 
nothing  to  remind  her  of  them,  but  he  could  not  unsay 
them,  and  if  she  had  faith  in  him,  all  might  yet  be  well, 
and  hope  would  again  have  painted  an  enchanting  vision  ; 
but  he  turned  away  from  it — "  he  would  not  unsay  them  " 
— so  Hugh  resolved,  yet  with  the  tendency  to  excess  which 
we  have  before  noted  as  an  attendant  of  human  weakness, 
the  looks,  the  tones  from  which  he  had  intended  to  banish 
passion  only,  leaving  to  them  the  warmth  and  light  of 
friendship,  became  cold  as  death.  The  strong  hand  with 
which  he  constrained  himself,  if  it  did  not  altogether  still 
the  movements  of  his  heart,  at  least  so  fettered  them  that 
they  were  not  perceptible,  and  before  the  breakfast  of  that  last 
day  at  home  was  over,  each  one  of  the  little  party  at  Captain 
Moray's,  the  captain  himself  excepted,  was  asking,  "  What 
can  be  the  matter  with  Hugh  that  he  is  so  distant  to  Augusta?" 
and  Augusta  herself,  with  a  cheek  now  paling  with  sor 
row,  now  burning  with  a  proud  anger,  was  accusing  herself 
of  having  disgusted  him  by  unwomanly  unreserve.  The 
moments  hastened  on  and  brought  the  parting.  Under 
any  circumstances,  how  bitter  parting  is !  but  how  is  its 
bitterness  increased,  when  at  that  moment  the  shadow  of  an 


98  TWO   PICTURES. 

unsatisfied  doubt  rises  between  us  and  the  friend  who  is 
about  to  pass  beyond  our  vision,  and  our  speech — a  moment 
more  and  the  question  which  is  now  throbbing  at  our  heart, 
bursting  from  our  lips,  must  remain  unbroken  till — till 
when  ? — it  may  be  till  the  grave  shall  give  up  its  dead. 
With  some  such  thoughts  as  these  swelling  in  her  heart, 
burning  in  her  cheek,  and  glittering  like  a  fevered  agony 
in  her  eye,  Augusta  stood  waiting  for  that  last  clasp  of  the 
hand,  that  last  word,  that  last  look  which  should  tell  her 
all,  or  leave  it  untold  forever.  Hugh  would  not  look 
toward  her,  yet  he  not  only  felt  that  she  was  there,  but  he 
believed  that  in  some  strange  abnormal  way,  he  saw  every 
change  of  her  color,  every  turn  of  her  inquiring  eye.  With 
an  almost  mechanical  movement,  he  approached  his  mother 
and  received  her  parting  embrace — then  in  turn  Esther  and 
Lily  threw  themselves  into  his  arms,  and  were  held  for  a 
moment  to  his  heart — what  he  most  dreaded  could  no 
longer  be  delayed — he  turned  to  Augusta,  and  held  out 
silently,  not  venturing  even  to  look  upon  her  face,  a  hand 
which  did  not  shake,  though  it  was  cold  as  marble.  She 
touched  it  with  fingers  as  cold  and  more  tremulous  than  his 
— he  could  not  forbear  lifting  his  eyes  for  one  moment  to 
those  which  were  striving  to  pierce  through  the  lids  that  so 
obstinately  veiled  his  own.  Their  glances  met,  and  revealed 
to  each,  for  one  flashing  moment,  the  unuttered  agony  in  the 
other's  heart.  Her  pride  gave  way — one  sob  struggled  up 
from  her  heaving  bosom — the  next  moment  he  had  caught 
her  in  his  arms — pressed  her  with  passionate  force  to  his 
throbbing  heart — touched  her  forehead  with  quivering  lips — . 
then  releasing,  as  suddenly  as  he  had  embraced  her,  rushed 
from  the  room,  leaving  his  father  to  follow  at  a  more  leis 
urely  pace  with  the  hat  and  gloves  which  he  had  left  behind 
him. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

M  If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 
Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  them  all." 

Rape  of  the  Lock. 

"  Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering  teach  the  rest  to  sneer." 

POPE'S  Satires. 

"  MAN  walkcth  in  a  vain  show,"  saith  the  inspired 
teacher,  and  who  has  not  proof  of  the  saying's  truth  in  him 
self?  How  peaceful  and  calm  to  the  outward  vision  is  the 
life,  when  deep  down  below  the  surface,  storms  are  raging 
and  volcanic  fires  are  pouring  out  their  scorching,  searing 
lava !  Especially  is  it  thus  when  the  storms  are  raised, 
and  the  fires  lighted  by  elements,  whose  existence  we  would 
gladly  conceal  even  from  ourselves.  It  has  been  said  that 
shame  entered  our  world  as  the  companion  of  sin.  It  is 
true,  and  so  did  contrition,  and  both  are  the  protest  of  what 
remains  of  the  divine  in  the  soul  of  man,  against  that  loath 
some  enemy.  Sometimes,  indeed,  that  protest  is  made 
most  vehemently  when  the  transgression  has  not  been 
against  God's  laws,  but  against  those  enactments  of  society 
which  vary  with  varying  latitudes.  Of  such,  according  to 
some,  are  those  emotions  which  wither  the  self-respect  and 
cast  gloom  over  the  life  of  the  young,  and  pure,  and  delicate 
woman,  who  suspects  herself,  or  fears  that  she  is  suspected 


100  TWO   PICTURES. 

by  others,  of  having  given  her  heart  unsought.  But 'not  so 
does  it  seem  to  us.  Wo  Relieve  the  instinct  to  be  true 
which  feels  the  natural,  eternal  propriety  of  the  Paradisaical 
order ;  that  man  should  feel  it  is  "  not  good  to  be  alone" — 
that  he  should  desire  and  seek  his  "  helpmeet,"  ere  she  be 
given  to  him.  Those  who  teach  otherwise,  would  denude 
young  life  of  its  most  bewitching  charm,  and  make  it  hard, 
and  cold,  and  loveless,  even  when  they  do  not  make  it  foul 
and  loathsome.  Thank  God  for  those  instincts  adverse  to 
such  teaching,  which  He  has  Himself  implanted  in  the  soul 
of  woman  ;  thanks  be  to  Him  that  they  are  so  strong  ; — 
yea — thanks  even  for  the  warning  agony  which  defends  them 
from  too  rude  a  touch  !  Yet  we  deny  not  that  earth-born 
emotion,  the  offspring  of  pride  and  passion,  often  infuses  a 
bitterer  element  into  this  agony,  and  drives  its  iron  deeper 
into  the  soul. 

Pure,  delicate  and  sensitive  Augusta  Moray  suffered 
that  instinctive  pang ;  proud  and  passionate,  her  life  was 
steeped  in  that  greater  bitterness.  Exaggerated,  certainly, 
was  that  suffering,  for  it  is  the  characteristic  of  passion  to 
exaggerate ;  but  she  was  conscious  of  causes  for  it  which 
may  not  have  been  manifest  in  our  narration.  Her  words 
had  been  few  and  simple,  such  as  friendship  and  sisterly 
affection  might  dictate ;  but  she  knew  well  what  feeling, 
awakened  by  Hugh's  tenderness,  resisting  Captain  Moray's 
effort  to  repress  it,  had  burned  on  her  cheek,  flashed  from 
her  eye,  quivered  on  her  lip,  and  given  its  thrilling  intona 
tion  to  her  voice,  and  she  believed  that  her  throbbing  heart 
had  been  at  that  moment  laid  bare  before  both  father  and 
son,  and  had  been  met  by  the  one  with  a  coldness  intended 
to  repulse,  and  by  the  other  with  a  compassion  which  hu 
miliated.  Hugh's  strange  distance  on  the  last  morning  he 
was  at  home,  had  planted  a  doubt,  a  fear,  in  her  heart ;  but, 
ere  it  grew  to  more,  the  agitated,  impassioned  tenderness 


TWO 


101 


of  his  parting  plucked  it  out.  Again,  however,  it  had  taken 
root  and  sprung  up,  and  strengthened  till  the  doubt  had 
become  conviction,  and  the  fear,  despair.  Hugh  was  an 
excellent  correspondent.  Every  steamer  brought  to  his 
mother  or  to  Esther,  his  most  frequent  correspondents, 
some  expression  of  his  tender  memories  of  home.  At  first 
Augusta  watched  for  these  letters  as  one  weary  of  the  night 
watches  for  the  dawning.  "  Surely,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he 
will  send  me  some  little  word  to  assure  rue  that  I  too  am, 
remembered  ;"  but  nothing  came,  unless  she  could  consider 
herself  as  one  of  "  that  dear  circle  of  home,"  to  which  his 
loving  remembrance  was  ever  sent.  As  month  after  month 
passed  away,  and  letter  after  letter  arrived,  kindling  hope 
but  to  quench  it,  all  the  fire  of  Augusta's  nature  retreated 
to  her  heart,  and  left  her  manners  cold  and  proud  where 
Hugh  or  Hugh's  family  were  concerned. 

"  Augusta,  come  write  a  postscript  to  my  letter  to 
Hugh  ;  I  hate  to  send  him  blank  paper  across  the  sea,  and  I 
cannot  fill  my  sheet." 

It  was  Lily  who  spoke. 

"  Excuse  me  —  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,"  was  the 
careless  answer^  as  Augusta  lifted  her  eyes  for  a  moment 
from  the  book  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  Nothing  to  say  to  Hugh  !  and  you  have  not  seen 
him  for  six  months  J  "  cried  the  wondering  Lily.  "  Well  ! 
I  must  tell  him  that." 

"  Do  so,  and  you  will  find  his  only  wonder  to  be  that 
you  should  imagine  I  could  have,"  and  Augusta  rose  and 
left  the  room  as  if  to  escape  a  disagreeable  subject. 

Mr.  Moray  did  not  come  north  till  late  in  the  autumn. 
When  the  summer  vacation  in  her  school  began,  Augusta, 
according  to  a  promise  given  soon  after  Hugh's  departure, 
went  to  Captain  Moray's  to  await  her  uncle's  coming. 
Slowly  and  heavily  the  month  of  July  passed  away,  and 


102  TWO   PICTURES. 

early  in  August  she  gladly  embraced,  with  her  uncle's  consent, 
a  proposition  made  by  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  to  accompany 
her  to  Saratoga.  Charlie  went  with  them,  lie  was  very 
popular  and  his  mother  scarcely  less  so.  As  for  Augusta, 
her  beauty  created  quite  a  sensation.  Gentlemen  gathered 
in  the  hall  to  see  her  pass  in  to  dinner,  waylaid  her  in  her 
walks  around  the  grounds,  and  contended  for  the  honor  of 
her  hand  in  the  ball  room.  And  all  this  scarcely  raised  the 
color  on  her  cheek,  and  certainly  never  caused  her  heart 
to  beat  more  quickly.  She  was  not  only  an  acknowledged 
beauty,  but  also  a  reported  heiress,  and  a  word,  or  even  a 
glance  of  encouragement,  would  have  brought  more  than 
one  captive  to  her  feet ;  but  neither  glance  nor  word  ever 
came,  and  "  Beautiful,  but  cold  as  ice,"  or  "  Beautiful,  but 
proud  as  the  devil,"  were  the  verdicts  pronounced  on  her. 
At  length,  the  ice  seemed  to  thaw,  the  pride  to  bend,  and 
the  world  wondered  more  as  they  saw  to  whom. 

Among  Charlie's  intimates  at  Saratoga  was  a  young 
naval  officer — a  midshipman,  of  course.  One  afternoon,  as 
Charlie  and  Augusta  were  riding,  he  joined  them.  Soon 
afterward  they  saw  him  take  off  his  hat  and  make  one  of  his 
lowest  bows  to  a  slender,  pale  faced  pedestrian. 

"  Why,  Sutton  !  who  is  that  to  whom  you  do  such  rever 
ential  homage  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  him  ?  "  asked  Sutton,  laughing  and 
coloring. 

"  No  !  I  should  have  thought  him  a  Commodore,  but 
that  he  is  too  young  :  is  he  your  chief — the  Secretary  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  and  Sutton  laughed  again  as  if  half  ashamed 
of  what  he  had  to  say,  "  he  is  my  chiefs  chief — the  Secre 
tary's  secretary." 

"  I  cannot  see  his  claims  to  such  a  very  low  bow  yet," 
said  Charlie. 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  write  yourself  U.  S.  N. — 


TWO    PICTUKES.  103 

Uncle  Sam's  Nigger ;  that  gentleman's  good  word  will  do 
more  for  me  than  the  Secretary's." 

"  How  is  that,  Mr.  Sutton  ?  "  asked  Augusta,  as  if  the 
subject  interested  her. 

"  Why,  you  know,  Miss  Moray,  our  Secretaries  are 
changed  with  every  new  administration  ;  it  is  scarcely  pos 
sible  for  them  to  master  the  details  of  the  Department  in 
four  years,  so  they  retain,  as  a  matter  of  necessity,  the  under 
secretary  of  the  previous  administration,  and  also,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  necessity,  commit  themselves  wholly  to  his  guidance 
in  all  minor  matters.  The  President  and  Secretary  may 
plan  expeditions,  but  what  ships  shall  be  sent,  who  shall 
command  them,  and  how  they  shall  be  officered,  are  ques 
tions  decided  by  Mr.  Saville ;  and  as  these  are  the  matters 
that  influence  our  fortunes,  he  is  the  man  to  whom  we  pay 
our  court.  Ah,  Miss  Moray  !  A  few  smiles  from  you,  if 
you  would  deign  to  give  them,  would  be  as  good  as  a 
squadron  to  any  captain  in  the  navy  that  you  wanted  par 
ticularly  to  recommend." 

"  Mr.  Saville  can  be  won  by  lady's  smiles,  then  ?  "  in 
quired  Charlie. 

"  When,  like  Miss  Moray's,  they  can  confer  social  dis 
tinction — otherwise,  I  am  afraid  a  box  of  cigars  would  be  a 
safer  investment." 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  introduce  him  to  me,"  said  Augusta. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Moray,  for  the  permission  to  do  so — 
such  an  introduction  will  be  a  trump  card  to  me." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  intrigue  for  a  squadron  for  Uncle 
James,"  and  Charlie  laughed  at  the  transparency  of  her  mo 
tives. 

"  Captain  Moray  should  not  need  any  one  '  to  intrigue ' 
for  him — pray  excuse  me,  Miss  Moray,  for  using  Mr. 
Moray's  word — intrigue.  There  is  not  a  better  officer  in 
the  service  or  one  more  beloved." 


TWO   PICTURES. 

Charlie  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  lie  had  been  so 
accustomed  to  hear  his  mother  speak  in  a  depreciating  tone 
of  his  uncle,  that  the  ardor  of  young  Button  struck  him 
strangely,  especially  as  he  saw  his  check  glow  and  his  eyes 
glisten. "  Augusta  saw  it  too. 

"  You  speak  warmly,  Mr.  Sutton,"  she  said,  "  do  you 
know  Captain  Moray  ?  " 

"  Know  him  !  I  have  sailed  with  him,  Miss  Moray.  I 
cannot  tell  you  all  I  owe  to  him,  but  this  I  will  say,  if  every 
young  officer  had  found  as  kind  a  friend,  there  would  be 
fewer  shipwrecked  characters  to  disgrace  our  profession." 

That  evening  Mr.  Saville  was  introduced  to  Miss  Moray, 
and  received  in  her  most  gracious  manner,  very  much  to 
the  astonishment  of  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  who  had  not  been 
present  at  the  conversation  we  have  just  narrated. 

"  Who  is  your  friend,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  when  Mr. 
Saville  had  left  them,  "  he  must  have  some  extraordinary 
claims  to  your  attention." 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  said  Charlie,  "  she  expects  to  be  paid 
for  all  her  condescension." 

"  Of  course,  in  some  coin  or  other,  we  all  expect  to  be 
paid,"  retorted  Augusta,  gaily. 

"  Admitted — my  question  then  is,  in  what  coin  do  you 
expect  payment  ?  " 

Augusta  colored,  laughed,  and  looked  to  Charlie  for 
help.  -^ 

"  In  coin  stamped  with  a  squadron,  and  lettered  with 
Captain  James  Moray,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for  him  to 
place  him  in  such  a  responsible  and  conspicuous  position, 
my  dear  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Morayfflh  her  softest  voice,  and 
with  a  smile  of  peculiar  meaning  flitting  across  her  face. 

Augusta's  face  grew  hot  and  her  eyes  flashed. 


TWO    PICTURES.  105 

"  I  am  sure  there  is  no  position  to  which  he  would  not 
do  honor,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  dare  say  Hugh  will  be  pleased,  if  you  succeed,"  and 
Mrs.  Moray  smiled  again  as  she  raised  her  eyes  quickly  to 
Augusta's  face, 

"  I  know  and  care  nothing  about  Hugh's  pleasure,"  she 
exclaimed,  warmly,  with  yet  deepening  color ;  "  if  Hugh 
were  out  of  the  world  as  he  is  out  of  the  question,  it  would 
not  lessen  my  luve  for  Captain  Moray,  or  my  desire  to 
serve  him." 

"  Indeed !  " — it  is  a  simple  word — "  indeed  " — but  its 
meanings  are  numberless.  As  spoken  now  by  Mrs.  Moray, 
and  interpreted  by  a  look,  it  forced  Augusta  to  turn  away, 
abashed,  indignant,  and  scarcely  able  to  repress  her  tears. 

Charlie  did  not  understand  his  mother — he  seldom  did 
— but  he  saw  that  Augusta  was  displeased,  or  distressed. 
Either  was  an  uncomfortable  feeling,  and  Charlie  did  not 
like  uncomfortable  feelings  for  others  or  himself,  so  he  came 
forward  in  her  defence. 

"  Augusta  is  quite  right,  and  you  would  think  so,  if  you 
could  hear  how  Sutton  speaks  of  my  uncle — and  you  can 
hear  him,  for  he  is  just  coming  this  way.  Here,  Sutton  !  " 
he  caught  the  young  midshipman  by  the  arm  as  he  was 
passing,  and  drew  him  toward  his  mother,  adding,  "  come 
and  tell  my  mother  what  you  told  my  cousin  and  me  about 
Captain  Moray." 

Sutton  told  her  not  only  this  but  more.  He  seated 
himself  beside  Mrs.  Moray,  and  with  an  eloquence  which 
sprang  from  feeling,  he  told  of  the  trials  of  a  midshipman's 
life,  of  the  mad  longing  to  break  away  from  the  restraint 
and  confinement  of  a  ship,  of  the  tempters  which  lie  in  wait 
for  them  in  every  port,  just  when  idleness  makes  tempta 
tion  most  powerful.  He  acknowledged  that  lie  had  not 
.always  been  able  to  resist,  that  he  had  passed  more  than 


106  TWO   PICTURES. 

one  night  on  shore  with  companions  as  young  and  as 
thoughtless  as  himself;  that  once — twice — Captain  Moray 
had  advised  him  with  a  father's  faithfulness  and  almost  a 
father's  tenderness,  sending  for  him  to  his  cabin,  that  their 
interview  might  be  private.  At  length,  emboldened,  as 
he  blushingly  confessed,  by  the  very  goodness  which 
should  have  made  him  more  afraid  of  wrong,  he  was  guilty 
of  such  gross  neglect  of  duty,  that  it  demanded  severer  pun 
ishment.  It  was  not  withheld  ;  he  was  reprimanded  in 
public.  Exasperated,  perhaps  all  the  more  because  he  was 
obliged  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  the  reprimand  was 
well  deserved,  in  a  moment  of  passion  he  declared  his  deter 
mination  to  resign  his  warrant.  The  words  once  said,  pride 
did  not  permit  him  to  retract.  With  an  aching  heart  he 
wrote  the  letter  to  the  naval  department  containing  his 
resignation.  Etiquette  required  that  this  should  be  trans 
mitted  through  his  commander,  who  must,  of  course,  be 
acquainted  with  its  contents.  Here  the  tones  and  manner 
of  the  young  man  grew  so  earnest,  that  Augusta  drew 
nearer,  forgetting  her  fear  of  Mrs.  Moray's  raillery,  in  the 
interest  he  inspired.  He  continued,  "  From  the  moment  I 
gave  that  letter,  Mrs.  Moray,  my  peace  was  gone.  I  had 
taken  a  step  which  would  shut  me  out  from  the  career  I 
most  ardently  desired  ;  but  this  I  could  have  borne  ;  it  was 
the  thoughts  of  my  mother's  sorrow — I  am  a  mother's  boy 
— her  only  boy,  Miss  Moray — this  was  what  wrung  my 
heart,  and  but  for  my  pride,  would  have  made  me  entreat 
Captain  Moray  to  restore  the  letter  to  me  before  it  could 
have  left  the  ship.  A  week  passed,  every  day  sinking  me 
deeper  and  deeper  in  depression  and  humiliation.  I  strove 
hard  to  hinder  it,  but  at  length  every  defence  gave  way, 
and  I  no  longer  made  an  effort  to  conceal  that  1  was*very 
wretched.  Just  at  this  time  Captain  Moray  sent  for  me  to 
his  cabin.  I  supposed  it  was  to  tell  me  that  my  resignation 


TWO   PICTURES.  107 

was  accepted.  I  was  so  faint  when  I  reached  the  cabin  that 
I  could  scarcely  stand.  He  saw  it,  and  made  me  take  a 
chair.  Imagine  my  delight  when,  taking  a  letter  from  his 
desk,  he  said,  'Mr.  Sutton,  here  is  your  resignation.  I 
would  not  forward  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  written  in  the 
heat  of  passion,  till  I  had  given  you  time  to  think  on  it. 
Now,  if  you  please,  you  may  withdraw  it;  if  not,  I  will 
send  it  by  this  day's  mail.'  Oh !  how  happy  I  was,  when 
I  once  more  held  that  foolish  letter  in  my  hand,  and  how 
grateful  I  have  ever  since  been  to  Captain  Moray  !  " 

"  He  is  a  very  good-natured  person,"  said  Mrs.  Moray, 
in  a  tone  that  grated  as  harshly  on  the  nerves  of  Augusta 
as  her  "  indeed  "  had  done. 

It  did  not  seem  to  please  Mr.  Sutton  any  better.  He 
answered  quickly,  "  He  is  the  best  hearted  man  in  the 
world  ;  yet  he  is  also  one  of  the  most  decided  and  efficient 
officers  in  the  service.  His  subordinates  love,  but  they  also 
fear  him.  For  this  reason  it  is  that  his  ship  is  always  well- 
disciplined.  As  to  his  men,  they  adore  him ;  you  can 
hardly  meet  an  old  tar  anywhere  who  has  not  some  story 
to  tell  of  his  daring  or  of  his  humanity." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Sutton,  to  tell  us  all  this," 
said  Mrs.  Moray,  with  a  slight  yawn,  which  might  have 
escaped  observation  had  she  not  raised  her  fan  to  hide  it. 

"  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times  over,  Mr.  Sutton,"  said 
Augusta,  warmly  ;  "  you  must  tell  me  some  of  those  sto 
ries  before  we  part.  My  uncle  will  be  so  glad  to  hear 
them." 

"  My  dear  Augusta !  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,  but 
really,  you  are  treating  Mr.  Delamere  quite  rudely  ;"  the 
observation  was  in  a  whisper,  but  scarcely  Talma  himself 
understood  the  art  of  so  modulating  the  voice  as  to  produce 
the  desired  effect,  better  than  did  Mrs.  Charles  Moray.  In 
the  present  case  it  was  intended  that  Mr.  Sutton  should 


108  TWO   PICTURES. 

hear,  and  he  and  Augusta  both  started  and  turned.  Mr. 
Delamere,  to  whom  Augusta  was  engaged  for  the  quadrille 
that  was  forming,  stood  waiting  to  lead  her  to  it.  The 
interruption  did  not  prevent  her  hearing  from  Mr.  Sutton 
before  they  parted  many  of  those  anecdotes  which  in  every 
military  service  become  traditional  of  favorite  officers. 
These  were  all  of  Captain  Moray.  They  told  of  his  daring 
spirit,  evinced  when  almost  a  boy  in  the  search  for  pirates 
in  the  Gulf;  how  he  had  bearded  Lafitte,  the  terror  of  all 
traders,  in  the  fastnesses  of  his  own  island  home ;  and  in 
spired  such  respect  for  his  heroism,  that  he  had  not  only 
come  off  unharmed,  but  had  won  courteous  treatment,  and 
succeeded  in  the  object  he  sought ;  how,  when  disease,  from 
whose  loathsome  aspect  all  shrank  appalled,  made  its 
appearance  at  an  important  naval  depot,  and  all  who  could 
were  finding  excuses  for  getting  away  from  it,  he  volun 
teered  for  the  command,  and  though  he  was  himself  struck 
down  and  brought  near  to  the  grave,  so  long  as  he  retained 
his  senses,  the  comfort  of  the  meanest  sailor  was  his  care, 
and  his  self-forgetful  devotion  to  them,  won  a  name  which 
would  fill  a  ship  commanded  by  him  with  good  seamen, 
sooner  than  all  the  press  gangs  in  the  world  could  do. 

It  has  been  said  that  every  woman  is  born  an  intrigante  ; 
it  is  true,  we  believe,  that  few  women  are  born  without 
that  nice  sensitiveness  from  which  proceeds  the  tact  that 
wins  its  way  to  its  object,  through  obstacles  insurmountable 
to  man's  force.  Without  obtruding  the  subject  upon  Mr. 
Saville,  Augusta  managed  that  these  anecdotes  should  reach 
his  car,  and  without  taking  the  attitude  of  a  petitioner  her* 
self,  or  suffering  Captain  Moray  to  appear  at  all,  she  had 
impressed  him  with  the  conviction  that  to  advance  the  pro 
fessional  interests  of  Captain  Moray  was  the  surest  way  to 
win  her  favor.  His  own  vanity  deceived  him  into  another 
deduction,  to  which  her  manner  would  have  led  no  one  else 


TWO   PICTURES.  109 

— that  with  such  a  card  in  his  hand,  he  need  not  despair  of 
winning,  not  her  favor  only,  but  herself  and  the  fortune  of 
which  report  gave  a  somewhat  exaggerated  account. 

"  I  will  see  about  that,"  thought  the  shrewd  Mr.  Saville ; 
"  investments  in  Southern  property  are  not  always  safe — 
there  are  apt  to  be  as  many  debts  as  acres,  or  more." 

Really  good-natured,  rather  liking  his  uncle,  and  feeling 
more  proud  of  him  since  listening  to  Mr.  Sutton's  stories 
than  he  had  ever  expected  to  be,  Charlie  readily  lent  him 
self  to  her  plans,  and  at  her  instigation,  solicited  Mr.  Saville 
to  let  them  see  him  at  Elizabethtown  on  his  way  to  Wash 
ington.  And  so  they  parted. 

It  was  October  when  Mr.  Moray  of  St.  Mary's  arrived, 
lie  brought  startling  news  with  him.  Measures  of  the  ut 
most  importance  to  the  South,  and  to  the  party  with  which 
he  had  ever  been  associated  in  politics,  were  to  be  acted  on 
during  this  session  of  Congress,  and  he  had  been  prevailed 
on  to  accept  a  seat  in  the  National  Senate.  He  had  refused 
to  take  any  active  steps  for  his  own  election,  but  he  had 
remained  at  home,  at  the  request  of  his  friends,  till  the  elec 
tion  of  the  State  Legislature  was  passed,  and  the  success  of 
his  own  party  in  that,  had  made  his  appointment  certain. 
He  had  already  secured  a  furnished  house  in  Washington, 
having  made  the  journey  to  New  York  by  land,  and  stopped 
a  few  days  in  the  Capital  for  that  purpose.  It  was  here,  as 
the  acknowledged  mistress  of  his  house,  that  Augusta  was 
to  make  her  debut  in  society. 

"  You  will  need  some  chaperone,  of  course,"  he  said  to 
her ;  "  I  will  invite  either  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  or,  if  you 
would  prefer  it,  Hugh's  elder  sister,  who  seems  to  me  staid 
enough  and  mature  enough  for  the  purpose." 

A  few  months  before,  and  Augusta  would  have  answered 
instantly,  "  Esther — pray  ask  Esther  ;  "  but  now  she  hesU 
tated,  colored,  met  her  uncle's  eyes,  fancied  some  peculiar 


110  TWO    PICTURES. 

meaning  in  them,  and  said,"  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  if  you 
please." 

"  And  her  son  ?  of  course  we  must  invite  him  with  her ; 
if  Miss  Moray  were  with  us,  I  should  ask  Hugh  to  come  to 
us  as  soon  as  he  arrived,  and  he  may  arrive  any  day,  as  he 
writes  me  that  there  is  only  one  missing  link  in  the  chain 
of  evidence  he  is  searching  for,  and  he  will  not  delay  a  day 
after  the  attainment  of  that." 

Mr.  Moray  paused,  but  Augusta  seemed  to  consider  the 
subject  as  settled. 

"  Then  I  shall  ask  Mrs.  Moray  and  Charlie  ? "  Mr. 
Moray  said,  in  rather  a  questioning  tone,  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  her,  as  he  lingered  by  the  table  at  which  they  had 
breakfasted  together,  and  from  which  he  had  just  risen. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  answered  Augusta. 

Mr.  Moray  rested  his  searching  eyes  for  a  moment  on 
her  downcast,  glowing  face,  then  turned  away  with  a  smile 
that  had  in  it  more  of  bitterness  than  of  mirth,  repeating  to 
himself, 

"  Varium  et  mutabile  semper  focmina." 

That  day  he  went  to  Elizabethtown,  and  the  invitation 
to  Mrs.  Moray  was  given  and  accepted.  Charlie  was  not 
at  home. 

"  Though  I  do  not  often  venture  to  accept  invitations 
for  him — he  is  so  seldom  disengaged — this  I  can  quite 
confidently  answer,  for  I  know  he  will  be  but  too  happy  to 
come ;  and  I  have  so  wished  that  he  should  go  to  Washing 
ton  and  hear  the  debates  in  Congress.  Charlie  has  excellent 
talents  for  elocution,  and  I  think  when  he  settles  down,  he 
will  take  to  public  life — so  Washington  will  be  a  capital 
school  for  him." 

Mr.  Moray  was  decidedly  verging   on  the  school  of 


TWO   PICTURES.  Ill 

Democritus,  for  again  a  grim  smile  passed  over  his  face. 
His  words  were  few  and  simple. 

"  I  shall  expect  you  both,  then,  to  be  ready  to  leave 
New  York  by  the  last  week  in  this  month.  In  the  mean 
time,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it ;  pray  let  me  know  what  it 
is." 

"  To  give  Augusta  the  benefit  of  your  taste  in  her  prepa 
rations  for  her  winter  in  Washington.  She  will  have  her 
own  carriage,  and  be  at  the  head  of  my  establishment,  and 
I  wish  her  to  enter  into  society  with  the  distinction  due 
to  her  name,  and  to  her  position  as  my  acknowledged 
heiress." 

He  had  risen,  hat  in  hand,  prepared  to  make  his  adieus, 
but  was  arrested  by  a  gentle  sigh  and  the  words,  "  Ah  !  my 
poor  Charlie !  "  from  Mrs.  Moray. 

Neither  sigh  nor  word  rang  true  on  Mr.  Moray's  ear, 
and  there  was  a  little  impatience  in  the  quick  glance  of 
inquiry  which  he  threw  at  her. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  angry,"  she  said,  depreca 
ting!  y,  "  and  I  know  Charlie  would  be  desperately  so,  if  he 
ever  had  reason  to  believe  that  I  had  betrayed  his  secret ; 
but  I  really  think  it  is  hardly  fair  to  let  you  invite  him  to 
your  house,  without  telling  you  that  he  is  coveting,  and  may 
steal  its  richest  ornament." 

"  You  mean  he  is  in  love  with  my  niece," — Mrs.  Moray 
almost  started  to  hear  her  euphuistic  phrase  translated  into 
such  plain,  unmistakable  language — "  but  I  do  not  see," 
Mr.  Moray  continued,  "  why  he  is  to  be  pitied  for  this." 

"  Not  for  this,  certainly ;  but  because  the  position  in 
which  you  are  about  to  place  her,  must  surround  her  with 
admirers,  many  of  whom  may  have  greater  advantages  than 
he  of  position  and  fortune  to  commend  them  to  your 
favor." 


112  TWO    PICTURES. 

"  I  would  rather  marry  her  to  one  of  my  own  name, 
than  to  the  greatest  fortune  in  Christendom." 

Mr.  Moray's  answer  had  been  quick  and  decided. 

"  You  delight  me — then  you  will  give  your  consent." 

"  Let  him  win  her's,  and  mine  shall  not  be  wanting. 
Good  morning ! " 

"  You  have  made  rne  perfectly  happy.  Tell  dear 
Augusta  I  will  be  with  her  early  to-morrow.  Good  morn- 
ing,!  " 

"  How  easy  it  is  to  manage  these  men  who  think  them 
selves  invincible  !  My  only  trouble  will  be  with  Augusta. 
But  somebody  said  once  he  could  move  the  world  if  he  only 
had  a  fulcrum  for  his  lever ;  her  pride  is  a  good  fulcrum, 
and  I  will  soon  find  the  lever." 

Such  were  the  lady's  thoughts  as  she  turned  away  from 
this  interview.  Let  us  listen  to  the  gentleman's  as  he 
walked  toward  Captain  James  Moray's. 

"  Well !  so  after  all  it  is  Charlie — a  fickle  boy — instead 
of  that  noble  fellow,  Hugh,  whom  Mortimer  as  well  as  I 
thought  she  preferred.  I  wish  it  had  been  Hugh  ;  but  at 
least  it  will  be  a  Moray,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  enable 
Hugh  and  his  father  to  distinguish  the  name  here,  while  I 
am  building  up  for  its  representatives  in  the  South,  one  of 
the  largest  landed  estates  in  the  country.  It  is  little 
enough  for  a  man's  life-work — the  thing  by  which  he  is  to 
be  remembered  ;  but  I  have  wasted  so  much  time,"  with 
a  heavy  sigh,  "  this  is  all  that  is  left  to  me." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  and  Captain 
Moray  had  met.  There  was  a  simplicity  and  frankness 
about  the  brave  old  officer,  which  at  once  won  Mr.  Moray's 
esteem,  and  touched  his  kindlier  feelings.  Hugh  furnished 
them  with  a  subject  of  common  interest.  When  all  had 
been  said  and  heard  on  this  subject,  they  grew  silent.  Sud 
denly,  with  almost  startling  abruptness,  Mr.  Moray  ex- 


TWO    PICTURES.  113 

claimed,  "  You  are  now  a  post  captain,  I  believe,  Captain 
Moray  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor 's  death  promoted  me." 

"  What  command  have  you  had  since  your  promo* 
tion  ?  " 

"  None — there  is  little  hope  of  a  command  for  any  one 
who  has  no  interest  in  Washington." 

"  Are  they  not  obliged  to  employ  you  in  your  turn, 
when  there  is  no  charge  against  you  at  the  dejpart- 
ment  ?  " 

Captain  Moray  smiled,  threw  back  his  head  proudly 
and  said,  "  There  are  some  whose  turns  come  very  often. 
It  is  true  they  dare  not  positively  overslaugh  me,  and  put  a 
younger  officer  into  the  regular  line  of  service  over  me ; 
but  the  old  favorites  are  sent  again  and  again  to  commands, 
and  the  young  favorites  have  special  service  created  for 
them,  while  those  who  have  grown  gray  in  a  life  of  hard 
service,  who,  for  the  sake  of  their  wives  and  children,  have 
clung  like  desperate  men  to  the  commissions  which  were 
their  all,  after  hope  and  ambition  had  been  both  crushed 
out  of  them,  doing  the  disagreeable  duties  from  which  the 
perfumed  pets  of  the  department  shrink — these — "  the 
veteran  broke  down,  his  voice  was  choked,  and  rising,  he 
turned  from  Mr.  Moray  to  the  window,  that  he  might  hide 
the  emotion  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  A  moment  after, 
returning  to  his  seat,  he  said,  "  Excuse  me ;  this  is  a  sub 
ject  on  which  I  cannot  speak." 

Captain  Moray  had  said  that  all  ambition  had  been 
crushed  out  of  him  ;  but  it  was  the  ambition  of  a  heart  at 
once  noble  and  tender,  under  whose  pent  up  fires  his  heart 
was  agitated  by  such  uncontrollable  emotion.  He  knew 
that  those  he  loved  would  care  little  for  the  privation  that 
poverty  brought,  could  .they  only  know  that  his  name  was 
honored  as  it  deserved ;  but  that  to  thorn,  as  to  him,  it  gave 


TWO    PICTURES. 

a  bitter  pang  to  have  the  world  receive  the  impression, 
which  the  slights  of  the  Government  could  scarcely  fail  to 
give,  that  he  was  unworthy  of  any  office  of  trust.  Mr. 
Hugh  Moray  remained  silent  for  several  minutes  after  the 
Captain  had  reseated  himself.  To  a  stranger  it  might  have 
seemed,  from  the  outward  quiet,  that  the  agitation  of  the 
past  moment  had  been  forgotten,  but  to  those  who  knew, 
him  well,  that  very  quiet,  in  Captain  Moray,  was  a  proof 
that  he  was  struggling  against  a  strong  tide  of  feeling  ;  and 
to  an  accustomed  ear,  the  quick  tapping  of  Mr.  Hugh 
Moray's  fingers  upon  the  arms  of  his  chair,  would  have  told 
that  his  mind  was  full  of  a  thought  which  he  found  it  diffi 
cult  to  express.  Yet  it  was  but  a  delicate  scruple  at  as 
suming  the  position  of  superiority  indicated  in  the  power  to 
help — he  who  had  been  all  his  life  an  idler,  to  offer  help  to 
one  who  had  so  faithfully  performed  its  duties.  Think  of 
it  as  he  would,  however,  there  was  but  one  way,  and  he 
spoke  out. 

"  I  am  going  to  Washington  as  one  of  the  Senators 
from  Georgia.  Tell  me  how  I  can  serve  you,  and  I  will 
use  all  my  influence  in  your  behalf." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you,  heartily,  Mr.  Moray  !  All  I 
want  is  service,  and  the  more  work  the  service  brings,  the 
better." 

"  The  Gulf,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  soon  be  our  most  im 
portant  command,"  said  Mr.  Moray. 

"  If  we  have  war  with  Mexico,  as  everything  seems  to 
threaten,  it  would  be,"  replied  the  Captain. 

"  Suppose,  in  anticipation  of  it,  you  should  apply  for 
that  command ;  you  are  entitled  to  a  squadron  now." 

"  I  may  apply,  but  I  shall  never  obtain  it." 

"  I  think  you  will ;  try — make  your  application — I  will 
soon  be  in  Washington  to  back  it.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
better  if  you  made  it  in  person." 


TWO    PICTURES.  115 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you — that  would  be  im 
possible." 

However,  it  proved  not  to  be  impossible,  for  the  very 
next  day  Captain  Moray  called  to  say  that  he  had  decided 
to  go  himself  to  Washington.  An  invitation  was  immedi 
ately  given  him  by  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  to  consider  his  house 
as  his  home  while  he  should  be  in  the  Capital. 

"  Dear  Captain  Moray  is  coming  to  us  in  Washington, 
and  I  am  so  glad  ! "  said  Augusta  to  Mrs.  Charles  Moray, 
that  day,  in  the  presence  of  her  uncle. 

"  I  wish  he  were  not  so  unstable,"  exclaimed  her  uncle, 
"  with  his  impossible  one  day,  and  his  readiness  to  go  the 
next." 

The  instability  admitted  of  easy  explanation,  and  Lily, 
proud  always  of  Esther's  good  deeds,  gave  it  to  Augusta. 

"  Esther  has  been  working  all  summer,"  she  said, 
"  working  for  money — writing  little  stories  for  a  magazine, 
and  copying  for  a  lawyer — one  of  Hugh's  friends — no  one 
knew  anything  about  it,  except  mamma,  and  she  helped  her 
to  do  it — and  now  they  have  given  the  money  to  papa." 

"  And  does  he  know  how  it  came  ?  Have  they  told 
him  about  Esther's  working  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  We  are  afraid  it  would  grieve  papa  to  know 
that  it  was  necessary — so  please  do  not  let  Aunt  Charles 
hear  it,  or  Charlie  either." 

"And  how  does  Captain  Moray  think  the  money  came?" 

"  Oh  !  he  thinks  mamma  saved  it,  you  know,"  she  con 
tinued,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  papa  knows  nothing  about  money, 
and  then  he  has  such  confidence  in  mamma's  powers,  that 
he  would  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  find  her  performing 
miracles." 

"  May  I  tell  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  him  to  know  how  clever  and  good 
Esther  is." 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  There  is  what  is  called  the  highway  to  posts  and  honors,  and  there  is  a  cro&i 
and  by-way,  which  is  much  the  shortest.'1' — L.v  BKUYKRE. 

"  PARIS  is  France,"  it  has  been  said  ;  but  Washington  is 
not  America.  Washington  lacks  the  most  important  of  our 
social  elements.  It  has,  it  may  be,  our  best,  it  has  certainly 
a  fair  proportion  of  our  worst,  but  it  lacks  that  middle  class 
•which  bears  up  the  one  and  keeps  the  other  in  subjection — 
which  fills  the  great  space  between  the  wise  counsellor  and 
devoted  patriot,  and  the  political  adventurer  and  scheming 
speculator.  It  is  in  association  with  this  class  that  the  sen 
timent  of  expediency,  which  is  disproportionately  cultivated 
in  political  life,  becomes  subjected  to  the  eternal  and  uni 
versal  principles  of  right.  Without  it,  it  must  be  a  strong 
man,  indeed,  who  does  not  find  himself  in  danger  of  rushing 
to  the  goal  at  which  all  are  aiming  by  some  short  cut,  when 
he  believes  that  to  preserve  the  straight  path  would  be  to 
see  himself  certainly  distanced  by  more  unscrupulous  com 
petitors.  As  the  diver  must  occasionally  rise  to  the  sur 
face  and  breathe  the  air,  so  must  these  sometimes  leave  the 
troubled  waters  of  politics  to  breathe  the  purer  air  of 
our  common  life,  and  to  receive  the  light  of  Heaven 
through  a  less  refracting  medium,  if  they  would  preserve 
their  souls  alive. 


TWO    riCTUEES.  117 

But  not  such  was  Washington  in  the  eyes  of  our  young 
heroine.  Too  proud  not  to  be  reserved  and  shy  in  the  expres 
sion  of  feeling,  there  was  in  her  nature  a  lofty  enthusiasm 
suspected  by  few.  To  her,  Washington  was  the  seat  of  life 
whence  the  body  politic  drew  its  forces.  The  statesmen 
congregated  there,  were  men  who  lived  not  for  themselves, 
but  for  their  country.  It  was  still  possible  for  her  to  pre 
serve  such  an  illusion.  Men  yet  stood  too  near  the  grand 
old  fathers  of  our  country  not  to  desire  to  assume  some  like 
ness  to  them,  if  they  had  it  not.  They  wore  robes  of  the 
same  fashion,  if  they  moved  less  freely  in  them.  Our  Sen 
ate  had  not  yet  become  a  debating  club  for  the  discussion 
of  abstract  questions,  a  discussion  for  the  most  part  con 
ducted  with  a  puerility  of  thought,  and  a  noisy  declamation 
that  would  scarcely  do  honor  to  youths  fresh  from  college, 
nor  was  our  Representative  chamber  yet  converted  into  an 
arena  for  pugilistic  combats.  Webster,  Clay,  Calhoun — the 
triumvirate  to  which,  it  is  to  be  feared,  we  shall  long  have 
to  look  back  as  to  our  last,  were  still  living ;  and  as  Augusta 
Moray  gazed  on  the  dark,  melancholy  eyes  of  the  first, 
shadowed  by  that  wonderful  brow,  or  looked  into  the  face 
of  the  second,  where  if  prescient  thought  sometimes  rose  as 
a  flitting  cloud,  it  was  chased  away  before  the  glow  of  the 
warm  heart  and  the  quick  kindling  fancy,  or  turned  to  the 
sharp  angular  lines  and  firmly  compressed  lips  that  marked 
the  iron  strength  of  the  third,  she  felt  that  she  stood  in  the 
midst  of  her  dream's  fulfilment.  The  session  was  one  of 
peculiar  interest.  Great  questions  agitated  the  public  mind, 
and  were  treated  greatly.  Two  great  parties,  springing 
from  the  very  foundations  of  our  civil  polity,  strove 
for  supremacy  in  our  legislative  halls.  The  one,  looking 
into  the  depths  of  our  colonial  history,  took  its  stand  on  the 
unquestionable  truth  that  each  State  of  the  Union  was  sov 
ereign  over  herself,  from  which  was  drawn  the  corollary 


118  TWO   PICTURES. 

that  she  was  as  free  to  leave  as  she  had  been  to  enter  the 
Union.  The  other  contended  that  the  present  Constitution 
of  these  UNITED  STATES  defined  the  boundary  of  the  powers 
of  each  State  as  well  as  of  the  great  whole  into  which  they 
had  been  voluntarily  fused ;  that  to  look  behind  that  was  such 
a  resort  to  first  principles  or  natural  rights  as  is  involved  in 
revolution,  and  must  be  decided  as  revolution  ever  is,  by 
the  relative  strength  of  the  ruling  and  the  revolting  forces. 
Denying  the  premises,  the  first  yet  accepted  the  conclusion, 
reminding  their  antagonists  that  though  there  was  no  doubt 
of  their  numerical  inferiority,  it  was  not  the  first  time  in  the 
world's  history  that  a  weaker  party  had  stood  opposed  to  a 
stronger,  and  supported  by  the  determination  to  dare  all, 
and,  if  necessary,  to  lose  all,  for  a  principle,  had  worn  out 
the  patience,  even  where  they  could  not  subdue  the  power 
of  their  antagonists,  taking  at  last  from  their  relaxing 
grasp  what  they  might  in  vain  have  sought  to  wrest  from 
their  determined  hold.  On  neither  side  was  there  any 
trickery,  any  bullying,  any  flimsy  display  of  rhetorical 
power.  All  was  grand  as  the  subject  for  which  they  con 
tended,  solemn  as  the  doom  to  which  they  seemed  ap 
proaching.  In  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  that  time  all  saw 
the  unflinching  executor  of  the  nation's  will — a  man  whose 
words  were  the  sure  prefigurements  of  his  deeds.  Their 
verdict  must  be  carefully  weighed,  for  it  would  be  surely 
executed.  In  stern  silence  each  sat  to  hear,  to  deliberate, 
to  judge.  The  sharp  logic  and  fiery  vehemence  of  Hayne 
called  up  no  angry  flash,  roused  no  personal  vindictiveness  ; 
and  the  deep  tones  of  Webster  found  as  ready  an  entrance 
to  Southern  as  to  Northern  hearts,  while  in  those  powerful 
words  which  seemed  the  fit  weapons  of  a  nation's  champion, 
his  mighty  mind  swept  away  all  that  opposed  it  save  that 
principle  which  lay  embedded  in  the  very  deepest  stratum 


TWO   PICTURES.  119 

of  the  life  of  his  opponents,  and  which  could  not  be  torn 
away  from  them  till  feeling  and  life  were  extinct. 

It  was  in  the  capital  and  in  the  presence  of  these  great 
men  that  Augusta  best  liked  to  find  herself.  We  are  afraid 
she  did  not  always  listen  when  men  of  more  ordinary  power 
occupied  the  floor — the  gallery  was  an  excellent  dreaming 
place  at  such  times. 

But  this  was  only  one  phase  of  her  life  at  Washing 
ton.  Under  the  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  Charles  Moray, 
and  with  the  escort  of  Charlie  and  sometimes  of  her 
uncle,  she  went  much  into  its  gay  society.  Mr.  Hugh 
Moray  was  fully  aware  of  the  power  derived  from  social 
influence.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  his  party  had  per 
suaded  him  to  enter  again  into  the  cares  of  a  public  life ; 
but  now  that  he  was  in  the  arena,  he  must  succeed — it  was 
essential  to  his  personal,  and  yet  more  to  his  family  pride.  It 
must  not  be  through  him  that  the  name  of  Moray  should 
be  connected  with  failure — so  every  means  of  influence  was 
studied  and  seized  with  avidity.  Augusta  acquired  new 
importance  in  his  eyes,  when  he  saw  "  grave  and  reverend 
seigniors "  pause  in  their  conversation  to  gaze  admiringly 
upon  her  beautiful  face,  or  to  follow  with  their  eyes  the 
proud  grace  of  her  retreating  form. 

"  We  are  greatly  indebted  to  you,  Mr.  Moray,"  said  one 
of  these,  Mr.  Mellen,  of  Virginia,  on  being  presented  to 
Augusta ;  "  you  have  shown  that  there  is  something  in  which 
the  South  cannot  be  surpassed." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Mellen !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Moray,  who  stood 
near,  "  we  shall  riot  permit  you  to  claim  Miss  Moray  as 
Southern  property." 

"  I  heard  it  surmised,  madam,  that  one  of  your  family 
held  her  in  mortgage  ;  but  he  cannot  prevent  us  from  claim 
ing  her  as  Southern.  What  say  you,  Miss  Moray  ;  do  you 

not  belong  to  us  ?  " 
fi 


120  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Certainly,  sir  ;  I  have  been  six  years  at  school  at  the 
North,  but  the  South  is  my  home." 

Augusta  spoke  with  a  steady  voice,  though  her  face  was 
dyed  with  a  crimson,  the  source  of  which  Mr.  Mellen 
strangely  misapprehended,  as  his  rejoinder  proved. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear  young  lady,  for  calling  up  your 
blushes — I  am  sorry  to  see  them,  beautiful  as  they  are,  for 
I  suppose  they  testify  to  the  truth  of  Washington  rumors, 
and  so  we  cannot  hope  that  the  South  will  continue  to  be 
your  home.  I  must  not  introduce  my  son  to  you,  I  see." 
This  was  said  in  a  subdued  tone  to  Augusta,  then  raising  his 
voice  he  added,  to  Mrs.  Moray,  "  At  least,  Mrs.  Moray,  we 
have  furnished  you  with  the  material  for  the  beautiful  man 
ufacture,  and  of  genuine  Sea  Island,  too." 

There  were  some  things  in  this  conversation  which 
grated  harshly  on  the  ears  of  Augusta  Moray.  She  thought 
she  must  remonstrate  with  Mrs.  Moray — surely  she  could 
not  be  aware  herself  of  the  impression  her  words  must 
make  on  those  who  heard  her.  Could  she  really  mean  to 
insinuate  that  she  was  engaged  to  Charlie,  or — or — to  any 
one  else?  Oh,  no!  it  was  impossible.  She  would  prob 
ably  laugh  at  the  idea  if  it  were  suggested.  Such  were  Au 
gusta's  thoughts,  and  having  come  to  such  a  conclusion,  to 
speak  of  taking  a  bull  by  the  horns,  or  of  attacking  a  lion  in 
his  den,  or  any  other  of  those  actions  which  are  the  conver 
sational  standard  of  difficulty,  would  have  given  a  faint  idea 
of  the  effort  necessary  on  her  part  to  approach  Mrs.  Moray 
on  this  subject.  It  was  simply  impossible. 

Captain  Moray  had  been  detained  a  few  days  after  them. 
When  he  arrived,  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  announced  his  intention 
to  give  a  dinner  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  him  to  the 
Secretary  of  the  Navy,  whom  he  had  never  seen  out  of  his 
office,  and  to  some  influential  Members  of  Congress.  If 
Captain  Moray  could  have  remonstrated  against  this,  he 


TWO   PICTURES.  121 

certainly  would.  The  bold  seaman,  and  hospitable  and 
courteous  entertainer  on  board  his  ship,  was  mastered  on 
shore  by  a  shy  reserve,  which  forbade  his  finding  much  en 
joyment  in  the  society  of  strangers.  His  reluctance,  how 
ever,  would  not  have  been  noticed  had  it  not  been  forced 
into  observation  by  Mrs.  Charles  Moray. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  run  away  from  Washington  to-day 
as  you  did  from  Elizabethtown,  to  avoid  Mr.  Jackson's 
dinner,"  she  said  to  him  ;  and  if  her  playful  manner  hid  a 
deeper  meaning,  neither  the  simple-hearted  old  captain  nor 
his  frank  host  suspected  it. 

"  Run  away  from  a  dinner  !  That  casts  at  once  an  im 
putation  upon  your  courage  and  your  appetite,  Captain," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Hugh  Moray. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  plead  guilty  to  it,  sir  ;  but  I  will  try 
to  redeem  myself  in  your  opinion,  by  my  gallant  assault  on 
your  good  cheer  to-day." 

Too  modest  to  explain  that  this  reserve  and  avoidance 
of  society  on  shore  had  originated  in  an  indisposition  to 
receive  courtesies  which  his  small  pay  did  not  permit  him, 
without  a  disregard  of  prudence  and  even  of  justice,  to 
return,  the  Captain  left  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  himself  a  lover 
of  society,  associating  that  taste  with  all  that  was  manly,  en 
ergetic  and  daring  in  character,  with  just  such  impressions  as 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray  had  probably  wished  to  produce. 

To  Augusta,  presiding  for  the  first  time  on  such  an 
occasion,  over  her  uncle's  table,  the  dinner  would  have  been 
as  formidable  an  affair  as  to  Captain  Moray,  had  she  been 
at  liberty  to  think  of  herself;  but,  in  truth,  that  Captain 
Moray  should  make  a  favorable  impression,  was  to  her  a 
subject  of  much  more  anxious  desire  than  that  she  should. 

He  was  seated  on  her  uncle's  left  hand,  Mr.  M n,  the 

Secretary,  on  his  right,  and  before  she  left  the  table,  she  was 
gratified  by  seeing  the  open-hearted,  kind  old  Secretary's 


122  TWO   PICTURES. 

handsome  face  expand  with  cordial  smiles,  as  the  conversa 
tion  between  them  drew  out  traits  of  mingled  shrewdness 
and  simplicity  from  the  gallant  officer.  The  arrangement 
of  guests  at  table  had  not  quite  satisfied  Mrs.  Charles 
Moray  ;  indeed,  she  had  ventured  to  suggest  playfully,  that 
her  place  was  the  one  assigned  to  the  Secretary,  who  ought 
to  have  the  post  of  honor  at  Augusta's  right  hand  ;  but  the 
suggestion  was  overruled  by  Mr.  Moray,  who  said  that 
Augusta  might  need  an  occasional  hint  from  Mrs.  Moray, 
suppressing  his  most  forcible  reason  for  the  present  plan, 
which  was  that  it  brought  the  Captain  and  the  Secretary 
together. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  great  favor,  sir,  in  introducing 
me  to  Captain  Moray,"  said  the  Secretary,  in  shaking  hands 
with  Mr.  Hugh  Moray.  "  I  like  him  ;  I  wish  there  were 
more  such  in  the  service." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mr.  M n  ;  I 

have  an  application  to  make  to  you  in  his  behalf,  this  week, 
and  I  was  sure  you  would  receive  it  more  kindly  if  you 
had  seen  him,"  replied  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  as  he  accompa 
nied  his  guest  to  the  door. 

They  were  alone ;  for  the  Secretary  was  compelled  to 
leave  early  for  another  engagement,  while  the  remaining 
guests  went  from  the  dinner  table  to  the  drawing  room, 
where  they  were  met  by  others  invited  for  the  evening, 
ladies  as  well  as  gentlemen.  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  joined 
them  with  a  somewhat  cynical  smile  upon  his  lips,  excited 
by  the  involuntary  coldness  which  had  shadowed  the  Secre 
tary's  open,  cordial  manner,  at  the  mention  of  an  application. 

Among  the  guests  of  the  evening  was  Mr.  Saville, 
invited  at  the  special  request  of  Augusta,  who  introduced 
him  to  her  uncle  and  to  Captain  Moray.  Mindful  of  Mr. 
Sutton's  instructions,  she  was  nervously  anxious  that  her 
gallant  old  friend  should  make  a  favorable  impression  upon 


TWO   PICTURES.  123 

this  "  chief  of  the  chief/'  and  a  little  vexed  to  find  that  Cap 
tain  Moray,  though  sufficiently  courteous,  as  he  would  have 
been  with  her  introduction  to  a  coal-heaver,  showed  no 
particular  empresscment  in  his  reception  of  Mr.  Saville. 
Following  him  to  another  part  of  the  room,  Augusta  found 
an  opportunity  to  say,  "  Mr.  Saville,  whom  I  just  introduced 
to  you,  is  the  chief  clerk  in  the  Navy  Department,  sir." 

"  I  know  he  is,  my  dear  ;  I  have  heard  of  him  before," 
was  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Mr.  Sutton  told  me  he  could  do  a  great  deal  more  for  the 
officers  than  the  Secretary  himself;  at  least,  he  said  the  Sec 
retary  would  not  do  anything  without  Mr.  Saville's  advice." 

"  And  did  he  tell  you  that  the  officers  paid  their  court 
to  Mr.  Saville  ?  " 

This  was  said  with  a  laugh,  which  made  Augusta  believe 
that  he  saw  through  her  manoeuvring,  and, with  a  laugh  and  a 
heightened  color,  she  said,  "  I  see  I  must  pay  the  court  for 
you,  sir." 

Captain  Moray  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  Mr. 
Saville,  with  an  unusual  intenseness  of  expression  in  them, 
then  letting  them  fall  on  the  glowing,  sparkling  face  at  his 
side,  he  said,  taking  her  hand  as  he  spoke,  "  Better  not,  my 
good  child,  better  not ;  it  might  be  dangerous  ;  that  is  not  a 
face  to  be  trusted ;  he  is  a  young  man  still,  and  might 
presume." 

Augusta's  only  answer  was  a  proud  little  motion  of  the 
head,  which  said,  as  plainly  as  possible,  that  such  a  degree 
of  presumption  could  not  be  imagined. 

Captain  Moray  smiled.  "  I  see  I  may  trust  you,  my 
dear,  not  to  compromise  your  own  dignity  or  mine." 

"  Indeed  you  may,  sir  ;  but  I  shall  get  you  a  squadron 
notwithstanding,"  she  added,  as  she  moved  gracefully  and 
smilingly  away. 

There  was  something  peculiarly  soft  yet  sparkling  about 


124  TWO   PICTURES. 

Augusta  this  evening.  The  ice  seemed  to  have  molted. 
She  was  always  dignified,  but  to-night  the  dignity  was  with 
out  a  touch  of  haughtiness.  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  was 
struck  with  the  change  now  as  she  approached  her,  and 
said,  "  Augusta,  you  look  as  if  you  had  found  a  treasure, 
and  were  willing  to  bestow  a  little  of  it  on  your  neighbors. 
Pray  do  not  forget  me  if  it  be  so." 

Again  the  glow  and  the  sparkle  were  on  her  face  as  she 
said,  "  My  treasure  is  incommunicable,  Mrs.  Moray,  and 
indeed  I  feel  much  more  like  asking  alms  to-night,  than 
bestowing  them." 

"  You  look  like  it,"  said  Charlie,  laughing ;  " '  so  pale, 
so  sad,  so  woc-begone ' — it  moves  my  compassion  ;  what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Give  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  if  you  please."  It  was 
handed  her  from  a  waiter  just  passing,  and  she  added,  with 
an  effort  to  look  grave,  "  If  every  one  would  be  as  compas 
sionate,  my  wants  would  soon  be  supplied." 

A  glance  to  Mr.  Saville,  who  stood  near,  had  drawn 
him  within  their  circle. 

"  Who  would  not  be  proud,"  he  said,  "  of  contributing 
to  such  an  object !  May  I  supply  the  cake  to  the  coffee  ?  " 

"  Is  that  all,  Mr.  Saville  1  I  hoped  you  would  offer  mo 
a  fine  frigate,  if  not  a  squadron." 

"A  squadron  let  it  be ;  there  is  one  trifling  difficulty, 
however :  you  have  no  commission.  How  shall  we  get  over 
that  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  easily  enough  ;  I  will  get  seme  one  who  has  a 
commission  to  command  it  for  me." 

"  Captain  Moray,  for  instance." 

"  Exactly  ;  how  fortunate  that  he  should  happen  to  be 
here  just  at  this  time." 

"Then,  for  form's  sake,  he  will  receive  the  squadron, 
and  for  form's  sake,  the  Secretary  will  give  it ;  but  you 


TWO   PICTURES.  125 

and  I  will  understand  the  matter,  and  you  will  know  that 
the  squadron  is  yours,  and  that  I  have  given  it."- 

"  Of  course,  and  I  will  be  your  debtor  forever  ;  how 
shall  I  begin  to  repay  you?  Shall  I  promise  to  dance  one 
quadrille  with  you  every  evening  this  winter  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  I  do  not  dance ;  but  do  not  trouble 
yourself  to  devise  means  of  payment.  I  like  the  thought 
of  being  your  creditor." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  and  I  have  no  more  wants." 

"  Where  is  your  squadron  to  go  ?  "  asked  the  laughing 
Charlie,  and  at  once  destroyed,  by  his  tone  of  badinage,  the 
feeling  of  reality  which  mingled  with  this  trifling  on. 
Augusta's  part,  at  least.  He  was  called  away,  and  Mr. 
Saville,  suddenly  dropping  his  voice,  and  changing  his  tone 
to  one  of  great  earnestness,  said,  "  Your  friend,  Captain 
Moray,  may  command  my  best  services,  Miss  Moray.'* 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Saville,  thank  you  a  thousand  times ; 
I  shall  indeed  be  your  debtor,  Mr.  Saville."  She  spoke 
with  a  throbbing  heart,  and  extended  her  hand,  scarcely 
conscious  of  what  she  did. 

The  pressure  it  received  recalled  her  to  herself. 

"  Creditor — debtor — that  bond  may  go  farther  yet," 
murmured  Mr.  Saville,  as  he  pursued  his  way  homeward 
that  evening. 

"  How  glad  Hugh  will  be  when  he  comes  1  and  he  is 
coming !  I  heard  his  father  tell  my  uncle  that  he  had 
arrived,  and  that  he  knew  he  %vould  be  impatient  to  accept 
his  invitation  ;  "  so  much  in  words,  then  in  that  deep  under 
current  of  thought,  which  she  refused  to  shape  into  words, 
yet  which  had  throbbed  in  her  heart,  lent  its  fire  to  her 
eyes,  and  its  soft  grace  to  her  movements  through  all  that 
evening,  came  the  conviction,  "  He  looked  at  me — I  am 
sure  he  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  something  to  do  with 
Hugh's  coming  when  he  said  it." 


126  TWO   PICTURES. 

Such  were  Augusta  Moray's  last  waking  thoughts  that 
evening. 

Captain  Moray's  application  for  a  squadron  was  made 
the  next  day.  It  was  backed  by  influential  friends,  and  the 
Secretary,  having  consulted  with  Mr.  Saville,  somewhat  to 
Captain  Moray's  surprise,  appointed  him  to  the  command 
of  the  squadron  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  This  was  particu 
larly  grateful  to  Captain  Moray  and  his  friends,  as  there 
seemed  little  doubt  that  war  between  Mexico  and  the 
United  States  was  not  very  distant — an  event  which  would 
render  the  post  one  of  peculiar  difficulty,  and  therefore  of 
peculiar  honor.  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  expressed  very  warmly 
his  sense  of  the  Secretary's  kindness  in  this  appointment, 
and  Augusta,  perhaps  with  more  reason,  thanked  Mr. 
Saville.  Each  accepted  the  thanks,  without  any  attempt  at 
disclaiming  their  agency  in  the  favor  bestowed.  Captain 
Moray  wras  no  courtier,  but  he  was  a  very  exact  disciplina 
rian.  He  could  not  condescend  to  fawn  on  Mr.  Saville,  but 
he  was  very  respectful  to  his  chief,  the  Secretary ;  and 
really  liking  him,  there  mingled  with  his  respect  a  cor 
diality  which  overcame  his  usual  reserve.  The  consequence 
was  that  at  every  visit  to  the  department,  he  gained  ground 
with  the  Secretary,  and  lost  it  with  Mr.  Saville,  who  would 
have  been  ready  to  revoke  his  decision  in  his  favor,  had  that 
been  possible,  or  had  he  not  felt  himself  rewarded  by  the 
smiling  reception  he  was  always  sure  of  obtaining  from  the 
beautiful  Miss  Moray,  whose  smiles  were  the  more  valued 
because  they  fell  not  on  all.  In  the  mean  time,  while  Cap 
tain  Moray  was  losing  favor  with  this  potential  individual, 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray  was  gaining  it.  Soon  after  the  appoint 
ment  of  Captain  Moray  to  his  squadron,  she  seemed  to  be 
come  suddenly  aware  of  Mr.  Saville's  claims  to  considera 
tion,  and  treated  him  with  such  distinguishing  respect  that 
they  soon  came  to  stand  upon  somewhat  intimate  terms. 


TWO    PICTURES.  127 

"  Really,  Mr.  Saville,"  she  said  on  one  occasion  when 
they  found  themselves  together  at  an  evening  entertainment, 
"  we  are  all  under  great  obligations  to  you,  for  your  advo 
cacy  of  my  brother-in-law's  claims." 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,  nothing  at  all,  madam ;  it  was  all 
the  Secretary — of  course  I  have  no  power ;  all  I  could  do, 
and  more,  if  it  had  been  possible,  I  would  have  been  happy 
to  do  for  your  beautiful  niece." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Saville !  Now  you  have  touched  my  only 
cause  of  dissatisfaction  with  you." 

Mrs.  Moray  kept  her  smiling  eyes  rivetted  upon  him. 
She  was  not  surprised  to  see  his  eyes  fall,  and  his  face  flush 
as  he  uttered  the  one  word,  "  Madam  !  " 

"  Can  you  wonder  at  it,  Mr.  Saville  ?  but  I  forget  you  do 
not  know  my  reasons.  See  her,"  she  continued,,  directing 
his  attention  to  Augusta,  who  was  just  passing  them,  lean 
ing  on  the  arm  of  Captain  Moray,  who,  much  against  his 
own  inclinations,  had  been  induced  by  her  persuasions  to 
accompany  her  to  this  soiree,  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  his 
rank,  which  he  rarely  wore  except  when  acting  officially ; 
"  now,  Mr.  Saville,  can  I  help  wishing  to  secure  her  for  my 
daughter  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  very  natural  wish,  madam ;  but  pardon  me  if 
I  say  you  cannot  very  much  blame  others  if  they  wish  to 
secure  her — not — exactly — as  a  daughter,"  and  Mr.  Saville 
smiled  his  most  insinuating  smile. 

"  Not  at  all — riot  at  all,  Mr.  Saville ;  but  to  give  one 
competitor  such  advantages  over  all  the  rest  as  you  have 
just  given  to  Captain  Moray's  son,  is  a  little  annoying,  to 
say  the  least — it  almost  throws  the  game  into  his  hands,  sir." 

Mrs.  Moray  spoke  in  lowered  tones,  yet  with  such  play 
ful  grace  that  her  words  might  pass  for  jest  or  earnest,  as 
her  hearer  pleased.  Mr.  Saville  seemed  quite  disposed  to 
take  her  in  earnest. 


128  TWO   FICTUBES. 

"  Captain  Moray's  son  I  I  was  not  aware  he  had  a 
son." 

"  Nevertheless,  he  has  a  son — a  very  decided  son,  Mr. 
Saville ;  a  son  whom  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  and  mistake, 
as  you  will  feel  when  you  have  seen  him.  The  only  ele 
ment  of  success  in  this  suit  which  he  appeared  to  lack,  was 
a  position  and  prospects  that  would  recommend  him  to  Mr. 
Moray.  These,  I  think,  you  have  done  much  to  furnish  him 
with." 

"  By  helping  to  give  his  father  a  squadron  ?  you  do  not 
think  he  would  marry  upon  a  clerkship — that  is  all  which 
his  father  can  give  him." 

"  His  father  can  give  him  nothing  which  he  would  take 
— he  is  a  lawyer  with  very  fair  prospects  in  truth — but  we 
are  proud,  we  Morays,  Mr.  Saville ;  and  Hugh  would  not 
say  to  Mr.  Moray, '  Give  me  your  niece,'  till  success  was  in 
his  possession,  not  in  prospect  only — I  see — I  see  what  you 
are  going  to  say — but  hear  me  out :  it  is  true,  as  you  have 
said,  that  Hugh  is  not  personally  advanced  by  your  efforts ; 
but  if  Captain  Moray  should  prove  a  successful  commander, 
and  there  is  little  doubt  he  will,  for  he  is  a  man  of  excellent 
judgment  and  undoubted  bravery,  the  prestige  of  his  hon 
ors  will  extend  to  all  his  family — at  least  in  Mr.  Moray's 
consideration." 

"  But  I  think  you  are  needlessly  alarming  yourself  and 
me,  madam,  after  all.  The  young  man  will  hardly  feel  that 
he  has  a  right  to  wear  his  father's  laurels,  whatever  Mr. 
Moray  may  do ;  and  if  I  understand  aright,  the  difficulty  is 
that  he  will  not  seek  till  he  is  more  assured  himself  of  his 
position." 

"  Yes ;  but,  Mr.  Saville,  a  humbler  man  might  be  en 
couraged  into  confidence,  and  Mr.  Moray," — she  glanced 
around  and  dropped  her  voice  yet  lower,  u  with  him,  family 
name  is  the  first  consideration ;  he  cares  for  nothing  so  much 


TWO   PICTURES.  129 

as  continuing  the  old  name  in  connection  with  his  splendid 
estate,  except  the  making  that  name  famous  ;  now,  if  Captain 
Moray  does  the  last,  and  he  will  if  there  should  be  a  war 
while  he  commands,  Mr.  Moray  will  desire  Hugh  above  all 
others  for  his  heir,  and  he  will  find  no  difficulty  in  making 
him  understand  that  he  does ;  and  I  shall  lose  my  daughter 
and  you  your — what  shall  I  say  ?  " 

Again  her  voice  was  light  and  playful — she  was  con 
scious  it  had  become  gravely  earnest. 

"  Will  you  not  walk  ?  "  asked  Augusta,  pausing  as  she 
passed  again  with  Captain  Moray ;  "  Mr.  Saville  must  be 
very  entertaining  ;  I  never  knew  you  a  fixture  before." 

"  Poor  Mr.  Saville  !  he  has  been  very  good,  and  I  have 
been  entertaining  him  with  eulogies  on  my  own  family,  be 
ginning  with  our  Commodore  here.  Oh,  Mr.  Saville !  I 
am  really  ashamed  of  myself,  but  the  truth  is,  I  am  as  very 
a  Moray  as  my  friend  the  Senator  himself." 

"  You  could  scarcely  have  chosen  a  subject  which  would 
have  interested  me  more,  madam  ;  will  you  walk  now  ?  "  he 
rose  and  offered  his  arm. 

"  No — I  will  reward  you  for  your  patience — Augusta, 
my  love,  will  you  walk  with  Mr.  Saville  and  let  me  have 
my  brother's  arm  ?  " 

The  Commodore  was  perhaps  the  least  satisfied  person 
in  this  arrangement,  but  he  was  one  of  those  who  could 
never  demur  at  any  proposal  made  by  a  woman,  so  he  sub 
mitted  to  the  exchange  of  companions  with  what  grace  he 
could. 

"  Mrs.  Moray  has  been  introducing  me  to  another  mem 
ber  of  your  family,  a  son  of  Captain  Moray,  of  whom  she 
speaks  very  highly." 

He  watched  Augusta  as  he  spoke,  and  saw  the  quick  fall 
of  her  eyes  till  their  dark  fringe  seemed  to  sweep  her  flush- 


130  TWO   PICTURES. 

ing  cheek  ;  but  she  said  nothing,  and  he  determined  to  try 
her  still  farther. 

"  You  are  acquainted  with  him,  of  course,"  he  said  ;  "  is 
he  really  so  noble  as  she  represents  ?  " 

Augusta  could  not  remain  silent  to  so  direct  a  ques 
tion,  but  there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice  which  showed  the 
effort  she  was  making  as  she  answered,  "  I  know  not  how 
Mrs.  Moray  represented  him  ;  but  of  his  nobleness  of  na 
ture  she  could  not  have  said  too  much." 

Mr.  Saville  almost  fancied  he  felt  the  reflection  from  her 
burning  cheek  upon  his  own,  as  he  bent  toward  her.  He 
was  satisfied. 

"  I  will  take  care  that  our  new  commodore  reaps  little 
glory  from  his  command ;  she  loves  that  man,  but  she  is 
as  proud  as  Lucifer,  notwithstanding  all  her  softness.  She 
will  all  the  sooner  be  won  by  another  if  she  fancy  herself 
neglected  by  him,  which  she  will  be  sure  to  do,  if,  as  Mrs. 
Moray  thinks,  he  can  be  kept  from  proposing  to  her  by 
doubts  of  his  position.  Her  daughter !  She  will  never 
marry  that  brainless  fellow — I  am  not  afraid  of  him." 

Such  were  Mr.  Saville's  evening  meditations  on  this 
occasion.  Augusta's  were  expressed  in  one  intense  heart- 
cry,  "  When  will  Hugh  come  ?  " 

The  two  who  rose  earliest  in  Mr.  Moray's  house  were 
Augusta  and  himself.  Captain,  or  Commodore  Moray,  as  ac 
cording  to  usage  in  the  American  navy,  he  was  called  since 
he  had  obtained  his  squadron,  had  the  self-indulgent  habits 
in  this  respect  common  to  most  seamen  when  on  shore,  and 
Mrs.  Moray  and  Charlie  were  self-indulgent  everywhere 
and  at  all  times.  The  morning  after  the  soiree  mentioned 
above,  at  seven  o'clock,  Augusta  entered  the  little  room 
where  her  uncle  usually  wrote  and  read,  and  where  the 
morning  papers  were  always  left.  Expecting  to  find  Mr. 
Moray  there,  she  came  to  ask  if  he  would  come  into  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  131 

breakfast  room  and  take  his  coffee  with  her.  It  was  a 
sunny  room,  and,  what  with  the  sun  shining  through  the 
crimson  curtains  of  its  one  window,  and  the  glow  of  the 
coal  fire  casting  its  reflection  on  the  bright  steel  bars  of  the 
grate,  it  seemed  on  this  especial  morning  to  be  all  alight. 
The  door  had  been  left  ajar,  and  Augusta,  treading  with  velvet 
slippers  on  the  thick  carpet,  entered  noiselessly.  A  gentle 
man  was  seated  beside  the  table,  writing.  His  face  was 
turned  away  from  her,  yet  by  a  sudden  light  that  flashed 
to  her  eyes,  and  the  crimson  that  rushed  over  cheek  and 
brow,  it  was  evident  that  Augusta  was  at  no  loss  respecting 
his  identity.  No  one  who  looked  in  her  face  could  doubt 
that  she  was  glad,  very  glad ;  yet  there  was  a  wavering  in 
her  movements,  a  sudden  dropping  of  the  clasped  hands 
lifted  in  joyful  surprise,  a  poise  of  the  body,  which  seemed 
to  speak  rather  of  retreat  than  advance,  when  Hugh,  though 
he  could  have  heard  no  sound,  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
aware  of  her  presence,  and,  starting  from  his  chair,  ap 
proached  her  with  outstretched  hands,  and  the  one  word, 
"  Augusta  !  "  uttered  in  a  tone  that  said  as  plainly  as  any 
words  could  have  done,  "  I  love  you  dearly,"  and  "  I  am 
rejoiced  to  meet  you  again." 

One  flashing  glance  from  her  eyes,  a  deepening  flush,  a 
half  smile,  were  Augusta's  only  answer.  Hugh  lifted  the 
still  clasped  hands  which  he  had  taken  in  his,  to  his  lips. 
Just  then  her  uncle's  voice  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the 
room  giving  an  order  to  a  servant,  and,  springing  from  the 
detaining  hand,  Augusta  escaped  from  the  room,  passing 
Mr.  Moray,  who  was  entering,  without  a  word. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Augusta  ?  Is  breakfast  ready  ?  " 
he  called,  turning  and  following  her  across  the  next  room. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  will  you  come  ?  "  The  answer  was  given  with- 
out  pausing  or  turning  around. 

"  Very  extraordinary,"  thought  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  who 


132  TWO   PICTURES. 

was  somewhat  punctilious  on  the  subject  of  deference  from 
the  young  to  the  old. 

And  while  he  turned  back  to  invite  Hugh  to  come  and 
take  his  breakfast  with  him,  Augusta  went  on  to  the  break 
fast  room  with  face  and  heart  all  in  a  glow.  Where  was 
the  coldness  gone  now  1  it  had  fled  with  the  doubt  and  fear 
and  mistrust  for  which,  if  she  thought  of  them  at  all,  she 
was  ready  to  reproach  herself  at  this  moment  so  bitterly. 
"  Doubt  Hugh — good,  true-hearted  Hugh  ?  How  could  she 
have  done  so  ?  He  was  too  brave  and  resolute  as  well  as 
too  true,  to  profess  anything  he  did  not  feel — she  should 
never  forgive  herself  for  having  doubted  him." 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  floated  through  her  mind, 
while,  hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  managed,  with  the 
aid  of  the  waiter,  to  pour  out  coffee  for  her  uncle  and  Hugh, 
with  only  the  mistake  of  putting  into  one  cup  all  the  sugar 
intended  for  both. 

Mr.  Moray  was  particular  in  the  matter  of  coffee,  and 
he  called  sharply  to  Gib  to  give  him  some  coffee  ;  what  he 
had,  he  declared,  was  syrup.  The  color  on  Augusta's  cheek 
deepened  and,  with  a  little  touch  of  consciousness,  she 
turned  her  eyes  inquiringly  to  Hugh  ;  but  they  fell  in  a 
moment  before  the  smiling  glance  that  met  them. 

"I  am  afraid  that  your  coffee" — she  began,  stammer- 

Mglfr. 

"  My  coffee  is  excellent,"  he  hastened  to  say,  "  but  I  will 
take  a  little  sugar,"  extending  his  cup  and  saucer  to  her, 
and  continuing  to  hold  it  to  the  manifest  disapproval  of  Gib, 
who  had  offered  to  take  it.  "  I  have  not  lost  my  boyish 
taste  for  sugar,  you  perceive ; "  he  added,  smilingly,  as  he 
withdrew  it  at  length,  becoming  conscious  that  several 
lumps  of  sugar  had  been  dropped  into  it  while  he  was  try 
ing  to  gain  a  look  from  the  eyes  too  steadily  intent  ap 
parently  upon  the  task  of  sugaring,  to  lift  themselves  from 
the  cup. 


TWO   PICTURES.  133 

"  I  must  have  had  all  yours  as  well  as  my  own,"  said 
Mr.  Moray,  innocently,  as  he  watched  this  operation. 

"  And  so,  Hugh,  you  have  succeeded  in  the  object  of  your 
journey  ?  "  began  Mr.  Moray  when  these  important  prelimi 
naries  had  been  settled. 

"  So  entirely,  sir,  that  I  think  our  case  will  be  won  by 
a  simple  recapitulation  of  testimony." 

"  I  heard  you  spoken  of  very  handsomely  the  other  day 
by  a  New  York  lawyer,  whom  I  happened  to  meet  at  a  din 
ner.  He  said  that  the  resources  you  had  shown  in  your 
search  after  testimony,  and  the  acumen  in  testing  it  when 
obtained,  had  gained  you  a  position  in  your  profession  which 
you  must  have  been  years  in  acquiring  in  the  usual  course 
of  affairs  at  home ;  he  talked  of  your  having  had  several 
partnerships  offered  you — is  that  true  ?  " 

"  It  is.  I  have  accepted  an  offer  from  Mr.  Holton,  to 
whose  kind  interest  I  was  indebted  for  the  appointment." 

"  You  have  done  well,  Hugh — I  congratulate  you.  Mr. 
Holton  is  one  of  the  first  lawyers  in  the  land.  A  partner 
ship  with  him  ensures  your  reputation  and  your  success." 

"  He  is  most  kind  and  generous,"  said  Hugh,  thought 
fully. 

"  How  long  can  he  spare  you  to  us,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  entered  on  the  business  of  the  office  yet, 
Mr.  Moray  ;  and  as  the  courts  are  not  sitting  at  present,  I 
have  told  Mr.  Holton  that  I  should  be  absent  two  weeks — 
perhaps  three — if  my  father  require  me  so  long." 

There  was  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  as  he  pronounced  the 
last  words,  which,  as  Augusta  met  it  in  one  hasty  glance, 
seemed  to  her  to  say  that  this  was  not  the  only  contingency 
in  which  he  might  be  induced  to  extend  his  visit  to  three 
weeks — at  least  so  the  sudden  drooping  of  her  eye  and  flush 
ing  of  her  cheeks  would  intimate. 

"  How  do  you  like  your  father's  appointment,  Hugh  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Moray. 


TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Very  much,  sir ;  nothing  could  be  better  if  the  depart- 
ment  only  acts  fairly  by  him  and  gives  him,  with  the  appoint 
ment,  the  means  of  holding  it  honorably." 

"They  cannot  help  it,  Hugh— they  cannot  help  it — the 
public  would  hold  them  responsible  for  failure  ;  besides,  the 
Secretary  is  very  friendly  to  your  father." 

"  Sincerely  so,  I  doubt  not,  sir ;  but  secretaries  are  not 
omniscient — they  must  trust  much  to  their  agents — their 
four  years  of  power  scarcely  sufficing  to  give  them  any  in 
sight  into  the  details  of  their  office,  and  it  would  be  ex 
travagant  to  expect  that  their  agents  should  be  always 
high-toned  men,  incapable  of  being  warped  in  their  judg 
ments  by  selfish  influences." 

"  But,  Hugh,"  said  Augusta,  quickly,  yet  with  a  little 
timidity  of  manner,  very  unusual  but  very  becoming  to 
her,  "Mr.  Saville  has  promised  to  do  everything  he  can  for 
your  father." 

u  To  whom  did  he  make  this  promise  ?  "  inquired  Hugh. 

"  To  me,"  Augusta  answered.  . 

"To  you!"  exclaimed  Hugh,  surprised  and  not  alto 
gether  pleased ;  then,  trying  to  speak  lightly,  "  It  is  danger 
ous  for  a  lady  to  incur  obligations — and  if  I  have  heard 
aright,  Mr.  Haville  is  not  one  to  be  satisfied  without  a  quid 
for  his  quo" 

"  But  indeed,  Hugh,  the  officers  all  say  that  you  can  get 
nothing  at  the  department  unless  Mr.  Saville  stands  your 
friend,  and  they  think  that  he  did  help  your  father  very 
much." 

"  I  have  little  doubt  of  it,  if  you  condescended  to  ask  his 
help,"  said  Hugh,  trying  to  smile,  yet  evidently  unable  to 
chase  away  the  shadow  from  his  brow.  Just  then  Gib  was 
called  out,  and  returned  to  announce  a  gentleman  who 
\vished  to  see  Mr.  Moray. 

"  Sit  still,  Hugh,"  said  Mr.  Moray,  as  he  rose  to  leave 


TWO   PICTURES.  135 

the  room,  "  I  may  return  in  a  few  minutes,  and  if  I  do  not, 
your  father  will  soon  be  here." 

Hugh  reseated  himself  silently.  Augusta  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his  face — the  shadow  was  still  there. 

"  Hugh,"  she  said,  with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice, 
"  you  think  I  did  wrong  to  speak  to  Mr.  Saville  ?  " 

"  Wrong  !  I  think  you  did  what  was  most  kind,  most 
generous  ;  but,  dear  Augusta  " — there  was  a  touch  of  tender 
ness  in  his  voice  as  he  pronounced  those  simple  words, 
which  made  her  heart  thrill,  ani  bowed  her  head  yet  lower, 
"  do  you  not  know  that  it  is  just  where  their  generous  im 
pulses  come  into  play,  that  your  sex  are  in  most  danger  cf 
committing  themselves  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  flash  from  Augusta's  eyes,  quite 
different  in  character  from  the  humid  light  that  had  lately 
filled  them,  as  she  said, "  You  need  not  fear  for  me ;  Mr.  Saville 
will  hardly  presume  upon  anything  I  have  said  or  done." 

Hugh  shook  his  head,  yet  he  gave  her  a  smiling  and  ad 
miring  glance,  as  he  replied,  "  Ah !  it  is  impossible  for  you 
to  tell  how  presuming  men  are." 

There  was  a  pretty  daring  in  her  manner  as  she  smiled 
back  at  him,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  would  take  the  risk  again 
for  the  prize — to  get  the  commodore  another  squadron  when 
he  wants  one." 

"  Wait  a  while — see  first  that  this  does  not  prove  one 
of  the  devil's  gifts." 

"  One  of  the  devil's  gifts  f  I  do  not  understand  you," 
said  Augusta,  slowly. 

"  You  are  not  read  in  necromancy,  I  am  afraid.  Have 
you  never  heard  that  when  a  poor  man  was  at  the  lowest, 
the  devil  sometimes  appeared  to  him  and  offered  gold, 
which,  if  he  accepted  it,  always  brought  to  him  more  ter 
rible  evils  than  any  he  had  yet  known1? " 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !    How  could  you  say  that  ? — but  it  is  im- 


136  TWO   PICTURES. 

possible — he  cannot  harm  him — I  will  not  believe  it ; "  yet 
her  color  faded  perceptibly. 

"  Do  not  believe  it,"  Hugh  hastened  to  say,  "  indeed,  the 
same  old  tales  assure  us  that  if  the  gift  passed  through  a 
pure  hand  before  it  reached  the  poor  man,  it  lost  its  evil 
properties ;  no — there  is  no  danger  for  my  father." 

"  A  very  comfortable  conclusion,  Master  Hugh,"  ex 
claimed  the  old  Commodore,  who  had  entered  just  in  time 
to  hear  the  last  words  ;  "  pray,  have  you  brought  a  suit  of 
armor  from  Europe  proof  against  Mexican  balls  ?  " 

Hugh  had  risen  to  meet  his  father,  and  while  he  gave 
and  received  a  greeting  so  glad  and  affectionate,  that  in  one 
less  manly  and  self-possessed,  it  might  have  seemed  boyish, 
he  said,  laughingly,  "  I  shall  leave  you  to  face  the  Mexican 
balls  as  you  may,  sir ;  my  armor  is  only  proof  against  at 
tacks  at  home." 

"  In  general,  by  far  the  most  dangerous.  But  I  really 
believe,  Hugh,  they  are  going  to  do  the  right  thing  this 
time ;  they  have  given  me  the  Congress  for  my  flag-ship  ; 
she  is  a  noble  frigate — you  must  go  on  board  to-day  with 
me.  We  shall  drop  down  to  Norfolk  in  a  few  days  to  take 
in  the  remainder  of  our  crew,  and  while  they  are  being 
shipped,  I  shall  spend  a  few  last  days  at  home." 

While  saying  this,  the  old  Commodore  had  bent  over 
Augusta,  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  dark,  glossy  hair,  had 
touched  her  glowing  cheek  with  the  fatherly  salutation  she 
was  accustomed  each  morning  to  receive  from  him.  Scarce 
ly  had  he  seated  himself  at  table,  when  Mrs.  Moray  entered, 
followed  soon  after  by  Charlie,  and  the  conversation  be 
came  more  general,  and,  Augusta  thought,  less  interesting  ; 
it  was  interrupted  suddenly  by  Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  who, 
pushing  her  chair  back  and  rising  quickly,  exclaimed,  "  Wo 
ought  to  be  ready,  Augusta ;  you  know  Mr.  Mellen  and  hit, 
daughter  are  to  call  for  us  this  morning  on  their  way  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  137 

the  Senate.  Hugh,  do  you  go  with  us  ?  If  you  do,  you 
must  go  trebly  armed,  or  you  will  be  compelled  to  sur* 
render  to  the  fair  Virginian." 

"  Has  Charlie  found  her  so  irresistible  ?  "  asked  Hugh. 

"  Oh  !  Charlie  is  out  of  the  question  ;  he,  long  ago,  was 
made  captive  by  another,"  by  whom,  her  glance  sufficiently 
intimated. 

"  I  am  equally  safe,  and  for  the  same  reason,"  said 
Hugh,  significantly. 

Mrs.  Moray  looked  surprised,  and,  for  once  in  her  life, 
the  look  was  the  true  reflex  of  her  feeling — she  was  sur 
prised  ;  not  surprised  at  the  attachment  which  Hugh's 
words  intimated — that  had  long  been  no  secret  to  her — but 
at  the  acknowledgment  of  it.  A  few  skilful  questions  to 
the  unsuspicious  Commodore,  had  made  her  au  fait,  as  she 
believed,  of  all  that  both  he  and  Hugh  felt  on  this  subject. 
She  glanced  at  him  now,  expecting  to  see  surprise  and  dis 
approbation  in  his  face  ;  but  no,  he  was  smiling  broadly  in 
Hugh's  face.  What  could  it  mean  ?  She  was  resolved  to 
discover,  and  she  did. 

"  So  Hugh  has  made  up  his  mind  to  pocket  all  the  hon 
orable  scruples  of  which  you  talked  so  eloquently,  and  win 
the  heiress  if  he  can  ?  "  she  said  to  Commodore  Moray  when 
next  she  saw  him  alone. 

"  Oh,  no  !  Hugh's  pocket  was  not  capacious  enough  for 
my  scruples,  though  it  might  have  disposed  of  his  own — 
Mr.  Moray  himself  demolished  them." 

"  Demolished  them  !  I  am  curious  to  know  how ; 
pray  tell  me — that  is  if  there  is  no  secret  involved  ;  you 
know  I  never  pretend  to  keep  a  secret." 

"  And  I  never  have  a  secret  to  keep — the  whole  thing 
was  as  simple  and  open  as  day.  When  Mr.  Moray  talked 
of  inviting  Hugh,  I  could  not  let  him  do  it  without  telling 
him  what  Hugh  felt,  and  what  had  passed  between  us  on 


138  TWO   PICTURES. 

tliis  subject ;  and  so,  as  I  told  you,  he  demolished  all  my 
scruples,  declaring  that  it  was  the  very  thing  of  all  others 
he  wished." 

"  And  does  the  lady  herself  know  all  this  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Moray,  endeavoring,  not  very  successfully,  to  assume  an 
indifferent  tone. 

"  Oh  no !  of  course  not ;  Hugh  is  very  desirous  that  she 
should  not  even  suspect  it,  so  it  must  be  a  secret  from  her, 
at  least," 

"  The  timidity  of  love,  I  suppose,"  she  suggested,  with  a 
sneer. 

Timidity  was  a  word  the  veteran  particularly  disliked, 
and  he  answered,  "  Well !  I  should  not  be  disposed  to  think 
it  was  timidity  of  any  kind  with  Hugh.  I  don't  think  he 
knows  much  of  that  feeling ;  but  then,  every  man,  in  such 
affairs,  likes  to  tell  his  own  story  in  his  own  way,  and  at  his 
own  time." 

"  I  should  think  he  would  be  in  some  hurry  to  tell  it, 
seeing  how  many  rivals  he  is  likely  to  have  here,  unless  he 
is  pretty  sure  of  his  ground." 

"  I  don't  think  he  has  great  reason  to  be  in  apprehension 
about  it,  do  you  ?  "  The  open,  kindly  smile  with  which  this 
was  asked,  might  have  charmed  away  any  demon  less  obsti 
nate  than  envy. 

Two  weeks  of  Hugh's  visit  passed  rapidly  and  happily 
away.  Commodore  Moray's  ship  lay  off  the  Portsmouth 
Navy  Yard.  He  himself  had  returned  home  for  those  last, 
few,  precious  days  into  which  the  sweetness  of  years  seemed 
to  be  distilled.  Precious  in  succeeding  years,  was  the 
memory  of  these  days  to  those  who  loved  him.  They  were 
as  a  glowing  twilight  between  a  dull,  lowering  day,  and  the 
blackness  of  night. 

Hugh  lost  these  pleasant  days.  He  still  remained  in 
Washington.  He  hoped,  as  he  said,  to  be  able  to  remain 


TWO   PICTURES.  139 

till  his  father  should  actually  sail  ;  and  again  Augusta's 
cheeks  glowed,  and  her  pulses  beat  more  rapidly  as  she 
asked  herself,  "  What  keeps  Hugh  ?  Why  did  he  not  go 
home  with  his  father  ?  " 

These  were  questions  to  which  Hugh  only  waited  an 
opportunity  to  furnish  an  answer.  He  had  sought  this 
opportunity  daily  during  the  last  week  of  his  stay,  but  had 
been  always  baffled  by  the  superior  tactics  of  Mrs.  Moray. 
When  Hugh  first  suspected  her  design,  he  smiled  derisively 
and  repeated  to  himself,  "  Where  there's  a  will  there's  a 
way  ;  I  can  bide  my  time  ;  "  but  he  found  before  the  week 
was  past,  that  his  will  was  not  all-powerful,  nor  his  patience 
inexhaustible.  Let  us  record  the  trials  to  which  he  was 
subjected  in  one  day — the  last  day,  as  it  proved,  that  he  was 
at  this  time  to  pass  in  Washington. 

"  It  is  a  very  pleasant  day,  and  there  is  nothing  espe 
cially  interesting  in  prospect  at  the  Capitol  this  morning ; 
may  I  hope  that  you  will  fulfil  your  promise  of*  making  me 
better  acquainted  with  Washington  and  its  environs  ? " 
Hugh  asked  Augusta,  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  breakfast 
table  on  his  return  from  an  early  walk.  Mrs.  Moray,  who 
had  become  an  early  riser,  was  present. 

"  If  my  uncle  can  spare  the  carriage  this  morning," 
answered  Augusta,  glancing  at  her  uncle,  and  speaking  with 
a  little  more  hesitation  than  so  natural  a  proposition  seemed 
to  account  for. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Moray  ;  "  I  will  only  drive  to 
the  Senate  and  send  it  back  to  you.  I  had  a  severe  vertigo 
yesterday  when  walking,  and  my  head  is  still  a  little  con 
fused,  or  I  should  prefer  walking.  I  shall  not  want  it  more 
than  fifteen  minutes,  however." 

"  Do  not  hurry  yourself,  uncle  ;  I  shall  not  be  ready  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,"  said  Augusta. 

"  Might  I  ask  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Moray,  as  soon 


14:0  TWO   PICTURES. 

as  the  door  had  closed  behind  Mr.  Moray,  "  to  go  a  very 
little  out  of  your  way,  to  put  me  down  at  the  house  of  my 
poor  invalid  friend,  Miss  Drayton?  as  you  will  be  engaged 
all  the  morning,  it  will  be  just  the  time  for  me  to  make  her 
a  long,  quiet  visit." 

Of  course  there  could  be  no  dissent  from  such  a  pro 
posal,  and  soon  Mrs.  Moray,  Augusta,  and  Hugh,  entered 
the  pleasant,  roomy,  open  carriage,  and  were  borne  by  a 
pair  of  spirited  horses,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  Miss  Drayton's 
door.  It  was  one  of  those  balmy  days  in  winter,  when  the 
stern  old  tyrant  seems  to  have  yielded  to  the  blandishments 
of  spring,  who  has  twined  her  flowers  around  his  crown  and 
sceptre,  and  melted  the  icicles  from  his  beard,  and  the 
snows  from  his  garments  by  her  odorous  breath.  At  Miss 
Drayton's,  Mrs.  Moray  descended  from  the  carriage,  but 
paused  a  moment  on  the  step  to  say,  "  Will  you  wait  one 
moment,  that  I  may  see  whether  she  can  receive  me,"  then 
glided  into  the  house.  Five — ten  minutes  passed  away, 
during  which  the  coachman  held  in  his  impatient  horses 
with  difficulty,  and  Hugh,  more  impatient  even  than  they, 
watched  the  door  and  the  windows  for  some  signal  that 
should  set  them  free.  At  length,  the  door  opened,  and  he 
turned  his  eyes  eagerly  thither.  Mrs.  Moray  appeared  in 
the  open  doorway,  but  not  unaccompanied.  Beside  her  was 
a  lady  who  appeared  about  thirty -five,  perhaps  forty  years 
of  age.  Her  face  was  destitute  of  every  tinge  of  color — not 
only  the  cheeks  over  which  her  dark  hair  was  plainly 
folded,  but  the  very  lips  were  pale.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
face  was  beautiful,  from  its  indescribable  sweetness  of  ex 
pression. 

"  My  dear  Augusta,"  cried  Mrs.  Moray,  "  I  have  pre 
vailed  on  Miss  Drayton  to  take  a  drive  with  you  this 
pleasant  morning.  I  told  her  that  I  knew  it  would  give 
you  pleasure  to  take  her." 


TWO    PICTURES.  141 

"  I  could  readily  believe  anything  kind  of  Miss  Moray, 
from  the  report  given  me  of  her  by  my  niece,  Annie  Mel- 
len,"  was  said  in  a  tone  so  gentle,  that  it  would  have 
breathed  peace,  as  Augusta  thought,  into  stormier  hearts 
than  any  there  that  morning. 

With  a  little  glance  at  Hugh,  perhaps  with  a  little  sigh 
of  disappointment  at  losing  the  pleasure  of  that  long  tete-d,- 
lete  drive,  with  its  longed  for,  yet  dreaded  disclosures ; 
with  an  inconsistency  which  every  woman  will  understand, 
Augusta  turned  to  welcome  Miss  Dray  ton  with  her  most 
cordial  manner,  a  manner  which  was  entirely  free  from  the 
pride  she  sometimes  exhibited.  Hugh  did  not  so  quickly 
recover  himself;  he  was  courteous,  but  silent  at  first,  and 
by  no  means  sympathetic.  It  was  impossible,  however, 
long  to  retain  his  coldness  to  one  so  gentle  and  unobtrusive, 
yet  so  intelligent  and  well-informed  as  Miss  Drayton.  He 
was  first  won  to  listen  ;  the  hard  lines  of  his  face  relaxed,  he 
replied  by  a  smile  to  Augusta's  glance  appealing  for  sym 
pathy  with  her  pleasure,  and  at  last  found  that  she  had  sunk 
into  silence,  while  he  and  Miss  Drayton  were  in  the  full 
flow  of  talk,  narrating  incidents  of  European  travel,  sketch 
ing  points  of  scenery,  or  commenting  on  national  character 
istics  ;  for  Miss  Drayton  too  had  been  abroad.  It  was  a 
triumph  indeed  to  have  made  one's  self  an  agreeable  com 
panion  under  such  circumstances,  and  we  have  no  doubt 
Miss  Drayton  enjoyed  it.  Gifted  with  the  most  delicate 
tact,  she  had  seen  in  a  moment  that  Mrs.  Moray's  blan 
dishments  and  irresistible  persuasions  had  made  her  one  of 
a  party  in  which  she  was  completely  de  trop.  It  was  seen 
too  late,  however,  to  retreat  with  dignity.  Under  such  cir 
cumstances,  a  selfish  woman  would  have  made  the  drive 
painful  to  herself  and  her  companions,  by  a  cold  and  super 
cilious  tone ;  but  it  was  a  principle  with  Miss  Drayton  to 
add  as  much  as  possible  to  the  sum  of  human  happiness  in 


142  TWO   PICTURES. 

little  things  as  in  great.  There  are  some  who  reserve  their 
powers  for  great  occasions.  Miss  Drayton  was  eminently 
practical.  She  knew  that  she  would  rarely  have  opportuni 
ties  of "  binding  up  a  broken  heart,"  or,  "  ministering  to  a 
mind  diseased ;  "  but  that  every  day,  perhaps  every  hour, 
she  might  dissipate  the  threatening  clouds  of  temper,  and 
call  back  the  light  of  cheerfulness  to  a  face  shadowed  by 
care,  by  only  cultivating  the  habit  of  studying  rather  to 
please  others  than  to  win  pleasure  for  herself.  In  the 
present  instance,  trusting  to  the  generous  nature  of  youth, 
she  began  by  letting  her  companions  see  in  a  simple,  quiet 
way,  how  much  enjoyment  she  was  deriving  from  what  had 
cost  them  some  sacrifice  of  pleasure,  and  the  result  proved 
how  true  was  her  judgment.  The  drive  which  had  begun 
so  unpromisingly,  ended  with  a  cordial  feeling  of  admira 
tion  and  interest  between  Miss  Drayton  and  her  young 
friends,  for  friends  they  had  become. 

But  Hugh's  trials  were  not  yet  past.  As  the  door  was 
opened  to  admit  Miss  Drayton,  a  more  youthful  form  and 
face  issued  from  it.  It  was  that  of  the  young  and  animated 
daughter  of  Mr.  Mellen.  Annie  Mellon  was  a  warm 
hearted  child  of  nature.  Just  seventeen,  and  educated  in 
her  own  paternal  home  in  Virginia,  she  had  seen  even  less 
of  the  world  than  Augusta  Moray.  In  her  whole  style  of 
character  and  manner,  there  was  less  depth,  less  power  than 
in  Augusta.  She  had  not  the  slightest  claim  to  be  called 
beautiful,  yet  there  was  a  charm  in  her  bright  fresh  face,  a 
charm  in  her  simple,  natural  manner,  and  yet  more  in  the 
glow  of  feeling  which  accompanied  all  she  said  and  did. 
She  had  felt  for  Augusta  from  the  first  hour  they  met,  one 
of  those  enthusiastic,  devoted  friendships,  not  {infrequently 
awakened  in  young  girls  toward  those  somewhat  older,  and 
somewhat  more  richly  endowed  than  themselves ;  a  friend 
ship  repaid  by  Augusta  with  more  of  interest  and  regard 


TWO    PICTURES.  : 

than  any  of  the  acquaintances  she  had  made  in  Washington 
had  attracted  from  her. 

"  Augusta,"  said  Annie,  passing  her  aunt  and  Hugh,  jind 
coming  toward  the  carriage  quickly,  "  Mrs.  Moray  invited 
me  to  lunch  with  you,  and  said  you  would  take  me  home 
with  you  in  the  carriage,  when  you  brought  Aunt  Lizzie 
back." 

"  Certainly,  Annie,"  said  Augusta,  cheerfully,  "  come 
in." 

But  again  Hugh's  glance  seemed  to  Miss  Dray  ton  not 
quite  so  cordial.  She  hesitated  a  moment  whether  she 
should  recall  Annie ;  but,  besides  that  it  would  be  a  great  dis 
appointment  to  Annie,  she  could  think  of  no  good  reason 
to  give  Augusta,  so  she  contented  herself  with  bending  for 
ward  as  Hugh  was  about  to  leave  her,  and  saying  in  an 
undertone,  "  Persuade  Miss  Moray  to  make  me  a  visit  to 
morrow  morning,  and  come  with  her  yourself,  Mr.  Moray  ; 
my  quiet  room  is  an  admirable  place  for  a  tete  a  tete,  and 
you  will  find  me  a  most  accommodating  hostess." 

Both  laughed,  but  Hugh  gave  her  another  clasp  of  the 
hand,  which  told  that  her  conjecture  was  right,  and  that  he 
was  grateful  for  her  sympathy. 

Annie  Mellen  remained  not  only  to  luncheon,  but  to 
dinner.  The  interval  between  these  repasts  was  filled  up 
with  the  reception  of  visitors.  Hugh,  while  he  remained  in 
the  house,  devoted  himself  to  Annie  Mellen.  Their  gay 
chit-chat  attracted  Augusta's  attention  more  than  once  from 
visitors  who  were  less  agreeable  to  her.  She  knew  not  that 
Annie's  bright,  cheery  tones  were  conveying  to  Hugh's 
intently  listening  ear  more  of  her  Washington  life  than  he 
could  have  obtained  from  herself  in  a  much  longer  time ; 
she  only  saw  .that  he  was  unusually  interested,  and  felt 
toward  her  who  had  excited  that  interest,  a  little  touch  of 
envy,  not  of  jealousy  5  she  knew  Hugh  too  well  to  fear  any 


144  TWO   PICTURES. 

rivalry  from  an  acquaintance  of  a  day.     His,  she  knew,  was 
not  a  heart  to  be  won  so  easily. 

After  dinner,  the  ladies  withdrew  to  prepare  for  a  ball 
at  the  house  of  the  Russian  Minister.  This  was  the  ball  of 
the  season  in  Washington  ;  nothing  was  wanting  to  majie 
the  scene  attractive,  which  wealth,  guided  by  taste,  could  fur 
nish.  All  the  greenhouses  of  the  city  or  of  its  environs 
had  been  stripped  to  supply  the  orange  and  lemon  trees  that 
made  the  halls  and  staircases  a  bower  of  fragrance  and 
beauty.  Every  doorway  was  wreathed  with  rare  and  costly 
flowers,  every  mantle  shelf  or  console  was  a  miniature  gar 
den,  where,  from  beds  of  soft  greon  moss,  rose  flowers, 
sometimes  of  purest  white,  without  mixture  of  any  color, 
sometimes  of  the  most  rich  and  brilliant  and  varied  tints  in 
nature  ;  pansies  of  purple  and  gold,  scarlet  verbenas,  many- 
colored  orchids,  camellias  and  azalias  of  every  shade,  from 
the  most  delicate  pink  to  the  deepest  crimson.  Through 
this  scene  of  enchantment  moved  the  young  and  beautiful 
hostess,  fit  dweller  in  such  a  temple.  Beautiful  as  she  was, 
with  that  riant,  sparkling  beauty  whose  charm  is  felt  by 
the  most  insensible,  she  dazzled  no  less  by  the  brilliancy 
of  her  dress,  its  exquisite  arrangement  of  graceful  drapery 
and  harmonious  coloring,  and  the  diamonds  which,  like  mimic 
suns,  flashed  their  rays  as  she  moved.  Yet  there  was  ono 
moment  that  evening  when  all  around  her  felt  that  there 
was  a  beauty  which,  without  these  adventitious  aids,  could 
throw  hers  into  the  shade.  Mr.  Moray  would  have  desired 
always  to  see  his  niece  magnificently  attired.  He  had  pre 
sented  her  with  valuable  jewels,  among  which  were  com 
plete  sets  of  pearls  and  of  diamonds.  But  Augusta's  better 
taste  taught  her  that  the  fresh  loveliness  of  youth  needed  not 
those  ornaments,  and  she  wore  them  only  to  gratify  hi-r 
uncle.  This  evening  she  had  followed  in  her  toilette  the. 
suggestions  of  her  own  taste,  it  may  be,  not  without  some 


TWO   PICTURES.  145 

conviction  that  it  accorded  with  Hugh's,  and  as  she  stood 
for  a  few  minutes  beside  her  beautiful  hostess,  even  Mr. 
Moray  was  satisfied  with  the  result.  Her  dress,  of  spot 
less  white,  fell  in  soft  folds,  rich  and  glossy,  to  the  feet, 
not  below  them — for  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day, 
although  it  swept  the  carpet  behind  her,  it  left  visible  in  front 
the  satin  slippers,  and  even  the  arched  instep.  Lace  of  the 
most  exquisite  Point  d'Angleterre  dropped  "  like  a  powder 
of  snow  from  the  eaves,"  softening  the  full,  yet  delicate 
outline  of  the  rounded  bust  and  the  perfect  symmetry  of  the 
arms.  A  cluster  of  the  delicately  tinted  flowers  of  the 
myrtle,  a  sprig  of  its  glossy  green  leaves,  with  two  or  three 
flowers  and  a  single  leaf  of  scarlet  geranium,  formed  her 
bouquet  de  corsage.  The  graceful  line  of  the  beautifully 
formed  and  well-set  head  was  broken  only  by  some  of  the 
same  flowers  tastefully  disposed,  from  which  there  drooped, 
touching  one  white  and  rounded  shoulder,  a  green  vine 
hung  with  bright  red  winter  berries. 

"  Now,  that's  what  I  call  beauty,  Mr.  Moray,"  said  Mr. 
Mellen,  always  a  great  admirer  of  Augusta,  "  that  with  two 
or  three  flowers  and  green  leaves,  and  just  a  white  frock 
without  even  a  bit  of  ribbon,  can  out-do  all  the  diamonds 
and  feathers  and  gewgaws.  She  just  looks  like  a  fresh 
white  flower  herself." 

"  Doesn't  she,  papa  ? "  cried  Annie  Mellen,  warmly ; 
"just  like  a  white  flower  on  a  tall,  graceful  stalk?" 

"  Yes,  Nannie,  and  the  rest  of  you  like  things  made  of 
paint  and  patches." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  that  is  too  bad." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  so,  Miss  Mellen,"  said  Mr.  Moray, 
good  humoredly  ;  "  too  bad,  and  very  unjust." 

And  certainly  nothing  looked  less  like  paint  and  patches 
than  the  animated  young  face,  glowing  with  enjoyment,  on 
which  his  smiling  eyes  were  turned. 


140  TWO   1'ICTURES. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Hugh  was  standing  opposite  a 
group  of  dancers  looking  with  very  evident  admiration  upon 
the  graceful  movements  of  Augusta  and  of  Charlie,  as  they 
went  slowly  through  the  mazes  of  a  quadrille,  when  he 
heard  some  gentleman  near  him  say,  in  a  tone  which  showed 
evident  dissatisfaction  :  "  She  shall  learn  that  I  am  not  her 
glove  to  be  put  on  and  off  at  pleasure." 

"  Hush — sh — sh !  "  said  another  voice,  on  a  lower  key, 
"  that  is  he." 

The  last  words  were  so  low  that  one  not  remarkable  for 
aculeness  of  ear,  could  not  have  heard  them  ;  Hugh  not 
only  heard  them,  but  recognized  also  the  voice  in  which 
they  were  spoken,  and  was  not  therefore  surprised  when  he 
turned,  to  find  Mrs.  Moray  standing  not  far  from  him  ac 
companied  by  a  gentleman  whom  he  had  never  seen,  but 
whom  by  one  of  those  intuitions  which  all  have  experienced 
and  none  can  account  for,  he  at  once  felt  to  be  Mr.  Saville. 
U  may  seem  equally  intuitive,  it  was  not  less  certain,  that 
he  applied  the  pronouns  "  she"  and  "  he"  of  this  fragment 
of  a  dialogue  to  Augusta  and  himself.  How  she  could  ever 
have  given  Mr.  Saville  occasion  to  believe  that  he  stood  in 
any  relation  to  her  that  might  be  symbolized  by  the  close 
fitting  of  a  glove  was  certainly  somewhat  of  an  enigma. 
Perhaps  Hugh's  professional  habits  of  thought  aided  him  in 
his  conclusions.  His  experience  as  a  lawyer  had  assuredly 
given  him  cause  to  know  that  a  man  readily  believes  what 
he  wishes,  and  that  the  most  innocent  actions  of  a  generous, 
unsuspicious  woman,  may  be  distorted  by  a  designing  man 
into  the  shape  that  suits  his  purposes.  Whence  he  drew  his 
convictions,  he  might  perhaps  have  found  it  difficult  himself 
to  say,  but  they  were  not  the  less  positive  that  Mrs.  Moray 
and  Mr.  Saville  had  been  speaking  of  Augusta,  and  that 
they  feared  to  have  him  hear  what  they  said  of  her. 

"  There  is  always  danger  in  secrecy  where  a  woman  is 


TWO    PICTURES.  14:7 

concerned,"  said  Hugh  to  himself.  lie  looked  at  Augusta  as 
this  thought  passed  through  his  mind.  "  How  ingenuous, 
how  superior  to  everything  like  intrigue  she  looks  !  How 
impossible  that  she  should  suspect  it  in  another  ! "  His 
heart  swelled  with  new  tenderness  to  her — a  lonely  orphan 
— no  mother  to  counsel — no  father  to  defend  her — her  only 
guardian  so  unsympathizing.  It  gave  a  fresh  impulse  to  his 
desire  to  win  her,  that  he  might  become  to  her  father, 
mother,  and  more  and  dearer  still.  "  I  will  speak  this  very 
night — I  cannot  bear  this  distance  longer — we  have  lost  the 
old  brotherly  and  sisterly  position — I  doubt  if  she  would 
come  to  me  now  with  her  perplexities  as  she  would  have 
done  a  year — no — it  has  been  longer  than  that — two  years 
ago.  That  can  never  come  back — we  must  be  more  to  each 
other — or  less." 

A  pang  of  doubt  shot  through  Hugh's  heart.  Augusta 
had  certainly  been  more  distant  of  late ;  was  that  the  timid 
ity  of  new-born  passion,  or  was  it  the  estrangement  of 
growing  indifference?  Such  thoughts  had  flashed  on  him 
before — perhaps  they  had  aided  Mrs.  Moray  in  her  desire  to 
prevent  the  speaking  those  decisive  words  which  might 
render  all  her  plans  abortive ;  but  to-night  they  came  with 
fiercer  strength,  rushing  through  the  deep  recesses  of  his 
soul,  and  threatening  to  overthrow  its  most  cherished 
hopes. 

Such  is  the  rapidity  of  thought,  that  scarce  a  minute  had 
passed  since  he  had  been  gazing  with  free,  bright  spirit  on 
the  gay  scene  around  him,  from  which  he  now  turned  away 
feeling  that  his  mood  was  not  in  accordance  with  it.  From 
the  glare  and  heat  of  the  ball  room,  he  found  his  way  to  a 
library,  cooler  and  less  brilliantly  lighted  than  the  other 
rooms.  No  one  was  there.  Lifting  a  heavy  crimson  cur 
tain  which  fell  again  behind  him,  he  entered  the  recess 
formed  by  a  bow  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  tran- 


148  TWO   PICTURES. 

quil  night.  lie  drank  in  its  stilling  influence,  and  soon  his 
pulses  .throbbed  less  rapidly  and  his  thoughts  grew  calmer, 
lie  was  about  to  reenter  the  room  when  he  heard  steps 
approaching,  and  through  an  opening  in  the  curtain  saw  Au 
gusta  come  in,  attended  by  the  gentleman  whom  he  believed 
to  be  Mr.  Saville.  With  instinctive  repugnance  to  meeting 
that  man,  he  drew  back  into  his  retreat,  supposing  that  they 
would  pass  on  to  the  rooms  lying  beyond,  but  they  paused, 
and  Mr.  Saville,  drawing  forward  a  chair,  asked  Augusta  if 
she  would  be  seated.  She  declined  it  with  a  slight  bow, 
saying,  in  a  cold  and  somewhat  haughty  tone,  "  Excuse  me, 
sir;  I  understood  that  Mrs.  Moray  had  sent  you  for  me." 

"  And  so  she  did,  Miss  Moray,  that  I  might  have  an  op 
portunity  of  asking  to  what  I  was  indebted  for  the  coldness 
of  your  reception  this  evening  ?  "  The  tone  in  which  this 
was  said  betrayed  uncontrollable  irritation.  Hugh  made  a 
quick  step  forward,  but  again  he  checked  himself,  as  throw 
ing  back  her  head  with  a  movement  of  startled  pride,  Au 
gusta  spoke. 

"  May  I  ask  you  so  far  to  explain  yourself  as  to  inform 
mo  what  reception  you  expected  from  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  What  you  were  ready  enough  to  give  me  as  long  as 
you  had  anything  to  gain  by  it."  The  tone  was  as  insolent 
as  the  words. 

"  I  should  forfeit  my  self-respect  should  I  answer  de 
mands  made  in  such  a  tone."  Augusta  spoke  low  but  very 
distinctly,  and  then  moved  to  the  door. 

"  You  don't  get  away  so  easily,  my  proud  lady,"  cried 
Mr.  Saville,  intercepting  her;  "  you  shall  hear  first — " 

What  she  was  to  hear  was  never  known,  for  Hugh,  un 
able  to  endure  more,  strode  hastily  forward,  and  Mr.  Saville 
found  himself  suddenly  dashed  aside  by  a  nervous  arm. 
Not  a  word  \vas  spoken,  not  a  glance  bestowed  on  him. 
Silently  Hugh  drew  Augusta's  arm  in  his,  and  led  her  from 


TWO   PICTURES. 

the  room  ;  not  so  rapidly  but  that  they  heard  the  muttered 
curse  and  the  "  not  loud  but  deep  " — "  I  will  make  you  rue 
this,  if  I  die  the  next  hour." 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  your  father!  I  am  so  sorry — I  ought  to 
have  been  more  patient — I  believe  what  you  said  of  him  had 
made  me  a  little  afraid,  and  I  did  try  to  avoid  him  this 
evening.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Had  I  better  try — " 

"  Do  nothing — try  nothing — lie  is  not  worthy  of  a 
thought — and  fear  nothing  for  my  father.  I  do  not  believe 
such  a  contemptible  being  as  that  can  injure  him." 

Alas !  Hugh  forgot  that  the  smallest  insect  may  have 
the  keenest  sting.  For  his  part,  he  dismissed  Mr.  Saville 
from  his  mind,  and  occupied  himself  wholly  with  Augusta, 
giving  expression  by  look  and  manner  to  the  admiration 
and  tenderness  of  which  his  heart  was  full,  while  he  longed- 
for  the  moment  when  he  might  speak  what  he  could  say  in 
no  presence  but  hers. 

The  hour  came  at  last,  though  Mrs.  Moray  delayed  her 
departure  to  the  latest  possible  moment.  Hugh  handed  Au 
gusta  to  the  carriage  in  which  Mrs.  Moray  was  already 
seated.  She  watched  him  with  impatience,  she  even  called 
to  them  to  hasten,  but  Hugh  still  lingered.  He  was  say 
ing,  "  I  must  see  you  alone,  Augusta,  though  it  be  for  a  few 
moments  only — I  fear  you  have  not  always  understood  me. 
I  would  put  it  out  of  your  power  not  to  do  so  in  future ; 
could  you  not  give  me  a  few  minutes  in  the  library  to-night, 
after  Mrs.  Moray  has  retired?  I  will  not  detain  you  long." 

"  It  is  so  late — but — I  will  try,"  Augusta  faltered,  in 
a  voice  that  trembled  even  as  did  the  little  hand  that  lay  in 
Hugh's  warm  clasp. 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  They  were  at  the  car 
riage — in  a  few  minutes  they  were  at  home.  It  was  Hugh 
who  opened  the  carriage  door  for  them.  He  had  ridden 
with  the  coachman  on  the  box,  while  Charlie  preferred  to 


150  TWO   PICTURES. 

walk.  lie  gave  his  hand  to  Mrs.  Moray,  for  Augusta  had 
drawn  herself  away  into  the  farthest  corner. 

"  I  think  she  is  asleep,"  said  Mrs.  Moray  ;  "  I  spoke  to 
her  twice,  but  she  did  not  answer."  » 

In  truth,  she  had  not  heard  anything  but  the  throbbing 
of  her  own  heart,  and  the  echo  of  those  words,  "  You  have  not 
always  understood  me — I  would  put  it  out  of  your  power  not 
to  do  so  in  future."  She  scarcely  ventured  to  touch  Hugh's 
hand  in  descending  from  the  carriage ;  she  hurried  before 
him,  before  Mrs.  Moray  into  the  house  ;  she  would  not  for 
worlds  have  appeared  to  linger.  Should  she  grant  his  re 
quest  and  see  him  in  the  library  ?  She  could  not  decide. 
"  I  will  see  how  he  looks,  what  he  says,"  she- thought,  "  per 
haps  he  will  have  forgotten  it."  She  glanced  at  his  face  as 
the  lamp  in  the  hall  flashed  on  them  ;  she  met  his  eyes — no, 
he  had  not  forgotten. 

"  Gib,"  she  exclaimed,  turning  hastily  away, ';  whore  is 
my  uncle  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  bed,  Miss  'Gusty — he  a'nt  very  well — he  head 
is  troublous,  ma'am,  and  Mister  Hugh,  sir,  here's  a  letter 
for  you,  an'  Master  said  you  must  read  it  mejantly,  sir — it 
corned  by  a  gen'lcman  from  New  York.  Master  saw  the 
gcn'leman." 

Before  Gib  had  finished  an  explanation  given  with  all 
his  usual  precision,  Hugh  had  torn  open  the  letter,  and 
found  it  was  from  his  partner  and  kind  friend,  Mr.  Holton, 
written  in  great  haste,  and  containing  but  these  words : 

DEAR  MORAY  : — My  little  daughter  lies  in  a  dangerous 
state ;  Mifllin's  case  comes  on  on  the  20th — I  fear  I  shall  be 
wholly  unfit  to  appear  in  it,  or  at  least,  to  take  the  whole 
burden.  You  have  studied  it ;  besides,  you  can  take  my  notes. 
Can  you  come  to  my  aid  ?  If  you  can,  lose  not  a  moment. 
You  will  have  this,  I  hope,  Thursday  night.  I  think  there  is 


TWO   PICTURES.  151 

a   3.  A.  M.  train.     Take  it  if  you  can — I  am  almost  dis 
tracted. 

Your  friend,  O.  UOLTON. 

"  Half  past  two,"  exclaimed  Hugh,  looking  at  his  watch, 
"  stop  that  carriage,  Gib — bring  my  carpet-bag — no — stop 
— I  must  do  it  myself." 

Hugh  rushed  upstairs,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  down 
again,  bringing  his  carpet  bag  and  travelling  cloak.  Mrs. 
Moray  and  Augusta  were  in  the  reception  room  opening  on 
the  hall.  The  door  was  open.  Hugh  entered,  and  took  a 
hurried  leave  of  both. 

"  You  will  come  back,  Hugh  ?  "  Augusta  said,  in  a  voice 
which  she  strove  in  vain  to  render  steady. 

"The  moment  I  am  free,"  he  said,  turning  back  and 
clasping  her  hand  once  more  for  an  instant. 

Little  did  they  surmise  how  they  were  next  to  meet. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  When  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  will, 
How  soon  they  find  tit  instruments  of  ill." — POPE. 

A  LOUD  knock  on  the  door  of  her  chamber,  and  her  name 
called  in  a  tone  of  alarm,  startled  Augusta  from  the  lute 
sleep  of  the  following  morning. 

"  What  is  it,  Gib  ?  "  she  cried,  springing  to  the  door. 

"  Miss  'Gusty  !     I  believe  Master  is  a  dyin',  ma'am." 

There  are  some  natures  which  such  terrible  shocks 
overpower  at  once — to  others  they  give  a  strength  never 
felt  before,  as  the  electric  spark  before  which  one  falls  sense 
less,  only  braces  the  nerves  of  another  to  tenser  resistance. 
Augusta  belonged  to  the  last  class.  She  had  caught  up  her 
dressing  gown  as  she  hastened  to  the  door,  and  before  Gib 
had  ceased  speaking,  she  had  opened  her  door  and  stood 
ready  to  follow  him  to  her  uncle's  room.  Long  before  she 
reached  that  room,  she  heard  the  stertorous  breathing  which 
had  first  alarmed  Gib,  and  caused  him  to  enter  his  master's 
room  at  an  unusual  hour.  It  was  a  sad  thing  to  sec  the 
strong  man  lie  there  so  helpless.  His  face  was  very  pale. 
Masses  of  waving  brown  hair,  mixed  with  gray,  had  fallen 
over  his  low,  square  forehead.  Augusta  pushed  the  hair 
aside  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  forehead,  but  withdrew  it 
quickly,  startled  by  the  coldness  of  that  she  touched.  There 
was  no  movement  in  the  stout  form  except  as  the  heavy 
breathing  stirred  it. 


TWO   PICTUKES.  153 

"  Oh  that  Hugh  were  with  me ! "  was  Augusta's  first 
thought — but  her  first  words,  and/"1  they  seemed  to  come 
without  delay,  were  an  order  to  call  Mr.  Charles  Moray, 
and  when  Charlie  came,  it  was  only  to  receive  her  earnest 
adjuration  that  he  would  go  himself  for  the  physician  whom 
Mr.  Moray  had  occasionally  consulted  since  he  had  been  in 
Washington.  Charlie  had  seen  enough  to  urge  him  to  ac 
tivity,  and  he  soon  returned  with  I}r.  Weston,  though,  soon 
as  it  was,  the  time  seemed  long  to  Augusta.  Dr.  Weston 
looked  at  the  sick  man,  touched  his  wrist  and  turned  at  once 
to  Augusta,  saying,  "  This  is  no  place  for  you,  Miss  Moray. 
You  must  leave  your  uncle  to  our  care." 

"  Is  he  dying  ?  "  she  asked,  with  husky  voice,  and  tremu 
lous  white  lips. 

"  No  ;  but  he  is  threatened  severely  with  apoplexy." 

And  the  threat  was  fulfilled,  and  when  next  Augusta 
was  permitted  to  see  her  uncle,  she  saw  that  his  tide  of  life 
had  ebbed,  and  though  none  whispered  such  a  fear,  though 
even  in  thought  she  could  not  have  borne  to  shape  it  into 
intelligible  words,  she  felt  that  that  tide  would  never  flow 
again — nay,  that  it  would  recede — it  might  be  slowly,  it 
might  be  rapidly,  but  slowly  or  rapidly,  it  would  recede 
till  its  last  wave  had  swept  beyond  mortal  vision.  It  gave 
to  her  feelings  and  to  her  manner  an  indescribable  tender 
ness.  His  will  was  more  powerful  with  her  than  it  had  ever 
been  in  its  strongest  and  most  despotic  hour,  yet  with  this 
submission  there  mingled  strangely  someAvhat  of  the  ineffable 
gentleness,  the  pitying  tenderness  of  a  mother  to.  a  sick 
child.  His  lightest  wish  outweighed  with  her  not  only  her 
own  inclinations,  but  those  of  every  other  person.  She  did 
not  say,  we  can  scarcely  say  she  thought,  but  she  fell  it  was 
to  be  for  50  short  a  time. 

Mrs.  Moray  was  very  attentive  to  the  invalid,  but  she 
lacked  the  inimitable  tact  possessed  by  many  of  her  sex, 


154:  TWO   PICTURES. 

less  gifted  in  other  respects  than  herself,  by  which  the  pos 
sessor  seems  to  divine  what  will  best  please  the  sufferer  be 
fore  it  has  shaped  itself  into  a  wish.  Mr.  Moray  had  not 
lost  his  gentlemanly  self-control,  but  Augusta,  by  virtue  of 
her  new  power  of  sympathy  with  him,  knew  that  Mrs. 
Moray  by  her  cold,  shallow  nature,  often  irritated  him  when 
she  meant  most  to  charm.  Surely  there  is  no  labor  so  ut 
terly  unrewarded  as  that  to  which  hypocrisy  condemns  its 
unhappy  followers ;  for,  however  closely  they  may  study 
their  part,  however  perfectly  they  may  act  it,  there  is  some 
principle  in  the  most  guileless  and  unsuspecting,  nay,  in  the 
most  stupid  of  human  souls,  if  it  be  also  a  true  soul,  which 
clearly  recognizes  that  it  is  but  acting.  Especially  is  this 
the  case  when  the  deeper  emotions  of  our  nature  have  been 
stirred  ;  a  discord  may  pass  unnoticed  if  it  clash  with  a 
feeble  tone,  but  if  it  break  across  some  full  deep  organ  tone, 
how  our  hearts  quiver  and  shrink  from  its  sharp  clangor. 
Mr.  Moray's  nature  had  ever  been  far  deeper  and  stronger 
than  Mrs.  Moray  could  understand,  and  it  was  increasing 
every  hour  in  depth  and  strength,  from  the  solemn  shadows 
that  were  gathering  around  it. 

Charlie,  though  not  less  light,  was  truer  than  his  mother. 
His  gay  chit-chat  sometimes  amused  the  invalid,  and  Au 
gusta  never  permitted  him  to  evade  his  daily  visit  to  the 
sick  room.  But  there  were  thoughts  and  wants  in  that  sick 
room  in  the  heart  both  of  the  sick  man  and  of  his  tender,  pity 
ing  nurse,  which  they  never  breathed  to  mortal  ear,  which 
they  would  have  felt  it  a  sort  of  sacrilege  to  breathe  to 
spirits  light  as  these,  and  which  made  them  both  turn  with 
longing  to  Hugh. 

These  feelings  did  not  lessen  in  intensity  even  when, 
after  a  week,  Mr.  Moray  resumed  his  accustomed  habits, 
though  his  movements  were  slower  than  formerly,  and  had 
something  of  uncertainty  about  them,  and  on  his  face  rested 


TWO   PICTURES.  155 

the  shadow  of  a  great  fear.  In  one  respect,  he  was  greatly 
changed.  lie  had  always  shown  superabundant  activity 
of  nature,  sleeping  but  little,  and  never  in  the  day.  Now, 
after  the  least  exertion,  even  that  of  a  short  walk,  he 
would  fall  asleep,  and  after  dinner  he  invariably  slept  in 
his  large  chair  by  the  study  fire.  It  was  a  pretty  picture, 
while  he  thus  slept,  to  see  the  beautiful  young  face  that 
watched  beside  him  with  a  softness  in  the  dark  eyes  which 
gave  a  new  charm  to  them.  As  they  sat  thus,  one  after 
noon,  in  stillness,  the  book  which  Augusta  had  been  reading 
to  her  uncle  lying  half  closed  upon  her  knee,  the  study  door 
opened  with  a  click  which  startled  Augusta,  and  aroused 
Mr.  Moray.  It  was  Mrs.  Moray  who  entered. 

"  Did  I  wake  you  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  forgetting  or  ignor 
ing  that  few  things  annoyed  Mr.  Moray  more  than  to  be 
told  that  he  had  been  asleep.  "  I  am  very  sorry  ;  but  I 
wanted  to  know  if  you  had  any  message  for  Hugh — I  am 
writing  to  him.  Shall  I  say  anything  for  you  ?  " 

The  question  was  addressed  to  Augusta,  over  whose 
face  and  neck  rushed  a  quick  crimson  tide,  as  s,he  answered, 
softly,  "  No,  I  thank  you." 

"  Have  you  any  message,  Mr.   Moray  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  tell  him  I  want  to  see  him  as  quickly  as 
possible.  I  was  thinking  of  writing  to  him  myself;  tell 
him  to  come  as  soon  as  he  can.  Of  course,  I  know  he  must 
stay  while  he  is  absolutely  necessary  to  Mr.  Holton." 

The  last  words  were  said  in  a  sort  of  sotto  voce,  as  if 
they  were  addressed  to  himself  rather  than  to  her,  and  were 
intended  to  moderate  his  impatient  longing.  They  were 
scarcely  effectual  for  this  last  purpose,  for  after  Mrs.  Moray 
was  gone  he  sat  silent  some  minutes,  and  then  said,  with  a 
strength  of  desire  in  his  tone  which  made  the  tears  spring 
from  Augusta's  eyes  at  the  thought  that  she  could  not  satisfy 
it,  "  I  want  Hugh  very  much.  I  hope  he  will  come  soon." 


156  TWO   PICTURES. 

Let  us  follow  Mrs.  Moray  to  her  own  room  and  see  how 
far  her  letter  was  expressive  of  this  strength  of  desire.  The 
apparent  subject  of  her  letter  was  the  request  that  Hugh 
would  attend  to  some  business  at  home  for  her — then  fol 
lowed,  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Mr.  Moray's  strange 
attack.  We  were  a  little  alarmed  about  him  at  first,  but  it 
has  passed  away,  and  so  have  our  fears.  I  have  been  to  ask 
if  he  or  Augusta  had  any  message  for  you.  She  had  none, 
but  he  charged  me  to  say  that  he  should  be  very  glad  to  see 
you  here  again  whenever  it  suited  you  to  come,  though,  he 
added,  you  must  not  think  of  doing  so  while  your  services 
were  needed  by  Mr.  Holton.  I  know  somebody  who  I  think 
would  be  glad  to  have  you  come,  whoever  might  need  you 
in  New  York.  Had  I  asked  Miss  An — a  Me — n — I  use 
a  few  letters  only  of  names  which  I  am  sure  you  are  in  no 
danger  of  mistaking,  because  I  think  we  have  no  right  to 
run  the  risk  of  compromising  the  delicacy  of  a  young  girl 
by  the  use  of  her  name  in  relation  to  such  a  subject,  espe 
cially  when  what  we  write  is  to  pass  through  the  Washing 
ton  post  office — but,  I  say,  had  I  asked  the  young  lady 
whom  those  initials  indicate,  the  question  to  which  Augusta 
answered  with  such  an  indifferent  "No,"  I  can  imagine 
how  the  eloquent  blood  would  have  spoken  in  her  cheeks, 
and  enabled  me  to  divine  the  message  to  which  her  modesty 
might  have  refused  utterance.  Ah,  Hugh  !  You  see,  I  have 
penetrated  your  secret.  Not  much  of  a  secret  cither,  for 
your  unveiled  devotion  made  itself  manifest  to  all.  This 
is  my  excuse  for  saying  what  it  would  otherwise  be  cruel 
tivuchery  to  a  young,  pure  heart,  to  tell  you.  I  know  you 
are  too  much  of  a  preux  chevalier  to  value  less  the  heart  you 
have  sought,  because  it  has  surrendered  to  you." 

About  this  time  it  was  that  Commodore  Moray  sailed 
from  Norfolk  to  his  cruising  ground.  Two  days  before  he 
sailed,  he  came  to  Washington  to  receive  his  latest  ver.bal 


TWO   PICTURES.  157 

instructions  from  the  Navy  Department,  and  to  grasp  once 
more  the  hand  of  his  kinsman,  between  whom  and  himself 
there  had  sprung  up  a  cordial  friendship  based  on  esteem. 

"  I  am  wanting  to  see  Hugh  very  much — when  is  he 
coming  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hugh  Moray. 

"  The  moment  he  can  get  through  with  this  case  in  which 
he  is  assisting  Mr.  Holton,"  said  the  commodore ;  "  but, 
if  you  want  him  particularly — " 

«  No — oh,  no  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Moray,  with  that  readi 
ness  to  disclaim  the  possibility  of  any  one  being  needed  by 
him  which  is  often  seen  in  elderly  gentlemen,  and  espe 
cially  in  invalids,  proceeding  probably  from  the  fear  that 
others  may  suspect  that  failure  in  their  self-reliance  of 
which  they  are  beginning  to  be  dimly  conscious  themselves. 

During  this  visit  of  Commodore  Moray,  and  for  some 
days  afterward,  Mr.  Moray  seemed,  decidedly  better.  He 
resumed  his  habit  of  daily  attendance  at  the  Senate  cham 
ber,  though  he  took  no  active  part  in  what  was  done  there, 
beyond  giving  his  vote  when  called  upon.  This  return  to 
public  life  became  the  event  of  his  day,  the  rest  of  which 
often  hung  heavily  on  his  hands  in  spite  of  the  unceasing 
tenderness  which  watched  around  him,  and  invented  employ 
ment  or  amusement  for  his  idle  hours.  In  a  society  full  of 
excitement  like  that  at  Washington,  the  man  who  runs  not 
with  others,  is  soon  left  behind  and  forgotten.  But  a  short 
time  had  passed  since  Mr.  Moray's  house  was  a  favorite  re 
sort  of  the  powerful  and  the  gay,  and  now,  except  kind 
old  Mr.  Mcllen,  who  made  a  point  of  seeing,  him  at  his 
own  house  once  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  though  it  might 
be  only  for  a  few  minutes'  call,  in  going  to  the  capitol,  or  re 
turning  from  it,  few  entered  his  doors.  Augusta  perhaps 
felt  this  seeming  desertion  more  than  he  did.  She  could 
not.  bear  that  he  should  have  cause  to  think  himself  already 
forgotten.  So  completely  did  she  lose  herself  in  him,  that 


158  TWO   PICTURES. 

she  was  positively  grateful  to  Mr.  Saville,  who  called  fre 
quently,  and  sometimes  passed  an  hour  or  two  of  the  evening 
in  playing  backgammon  with  Mr.  Moray.  In  his  kindness 
to  her  uncle,  she  completely  forgot  his  offence  against  her 
self,  while  Mr.  Moray  grew  almost  confidential  with  him, 
and  one  evening  when  Augusta  had  left  them  at  their  game, 
and  gone  to  the  tea  table  in  the  next  room,  he  asked  if  Mr. 
Saville  could  recommend  an  honest  lawyer  to  him,  as  he 
wanted  to  make  his  will,  adding,  that  though  he  had  quite 
recovered  from  his  sudden  attack,  it  had  made  him  feel  the 
necessity  of  adjusting  his  business. 

"  If  we  believe  the  general  verdict,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Saville, 
with  a  smile,  "  an  honest  lawyer  will  be  somewhat  difficult 
to  find ;  but  perhaps  I  can  do  what  you  wish  myself.  I 
have  studied  law  and  practised  it  for  several  years,  though, 
disliking  it  exceedingly,  1  was  not  sorry  to  relinquish  the 
practice  for  iny  present  position." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mr.  Moray,  with  a  little  hesi 
tation  of  manner,  "  but — " 

"  But  you  are  afraid  to  trust  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Sa 
ville,  laughing,  "  you  are  quite  right,  if  the  will  is  at  all 
complicated — perhaps  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  will  be  back  in 
time  to  meet  your  wishes." 

"  It  would  not  help  me  if  he  were — I  have  particular 
reasons  for  not  wishing  him  to  do  it."  Mr.  Moray  spoke  in 
a  tone  of  annoyance. 

"  Is  not  Mr.  Mellon  a  lawyer  of  some  eminence  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Saville. 

"  He  is — and  he  commenced  the  practice  of  law  in  my 
own  State,  Georgia,  though  he  removed  on  his  marriage  to 
Virginia  :  yes,  Mellen  would  suit  me  exactly — and  I  spoke 
to  him  about  it,  and  he  promised  to  do  it  as  soon  as  he 
could  ;  but  he  is  so  engrossed,  and  I — I  am  impatient,  per 
haps." 


TWO   PICTUKES.  150 

"  Well,  sir,  suppose  you  give  me  the  necessary  items, 
and  I  draw  up  the  instrument  and  bring  it  to  you — then  let 
Mr.  Mellen  examine  it ;  that  will  not  take  much  of  his  time. 
If  it  be  correct,  all  is  well ;  if  not,  and  he  will  point  out  the 
errors,  I  can  correct  them." 

"  But  I  shall  be  taking  so  much  of  your  time,  Mr.  Sa- 
ville,"  suggested  Mr.  Moray,  looking  at  the  same  time, 
however,  much  pleased. 

"  Oh  !  say  nothing  of  that — it  will  only  deprive  me  of 
one  or  two  of  my  pleasant  evenings  with  you  here." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you  !  I  shall  always  remember 
your  kindness  as  that  of  a  friend  ;  but  I  cannot  accept  your 
time  unless  you  permit  me  also  to  regard  it  in  the  light  of 
a  professional  service." 

"  You  shall  do  just  as  you  please  in  that  as  in  all  the 
rest." 

"  Then  will  you  close  that  door,  and  I  will  give  you  the 
memoranda  at  once — there  is  no  time  like  the  present,  you 
know." 

The  door  was  closed,  and  the  memoranda  given.  At  ten 
o'clock,  Mr.  Saville  entered  the  parlor  where  the  ladies  sat ; 
Charlie  had  gone  out. 

"  Miss  Moray,  I  am  afraid  I  have  kept  your  uncle  up 
too  long — he  looks  wearied." 

If  Mr.  Saville  had  intended  to  send  Augusta  away,  he 
could  not  have  chosen  a  more  certain  measure.  With  a 
hasty  good  evening,  she  went  to  the  library,  leaving  him 
just  in  the  act  of  taking  leave  of  Mrs.  Moray.  From  the 
library  she  went  first  to  her  uncle's  room,  to  see  that  every 
thing  was  arranged  for  his  comfort,  and  then  to  her  own. 
As  she  said  "  Good  night "  to  Mr.  Moray,  his  eyes  rested 
on  her  with  an  expression  of  such  affection  as  she  had  never 
seen  in  them  before.  Augusta's  heart  overflowed  with  a 
tenderness  which  she  knew  not  how  to  express,  and  taking 


160  TWO   PICTURES. 

the  hand  Mr.  Moray  had  held  out  to  her,  she  raised  it  to 
her  lips.  Suddenly  a  great  sob  broke  from  Mr.  Moray,  and 
drawing  Augusta  closer  to  him,  he  kissed  her  on  her  cheek, 
and  said,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  When  your  old  uncle  goes, 
you  will  find  he  has  taken  care  of  you." 

"And  now  you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  dear  uncle, 
for  which  I  care  a  great  deal  more  than  for  anything  else." 
She  tried  to  speak  in  cheerful  tones,  and  left  the  room 
immediately,  fearful  that  he  would  continue  to  talk  if  she 
remained.  She  went  to  her  own  room,  very  weary,  yet  too 
much  excited  to  sleep.  It  was  so  new,  so  strange,  to  have 
her  uncle  gentle  and  affectionate  in  manner.  "  It  was  pleas 
ant,  certainly,  very  pleasant,"  she  repeated  to  herself,  feeling 
all  the  time  a  painful  sense  of  loss  and  want.  This  kind, 
caressing  uncle  might  be  pleasant,  but  he  was  not  the 
strong,  self-relying,  despotic,  yet  just  and  honorable  man  of 
whom  she  had  been  proud  all  her  life.  Him  she  should  no 
more  see.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  more  such  a  character 
is  missed  by  those  who  have  lived  within  its  influence,  than 
one  more  amiable  even,  if  less  powerful.  But  Augusta's 
thoughts  at  last  rested  on  one  who  seemed  to  her  to  com 
bine  the  strength  and  self-reliance,  and  even,  on  certain  oc 
casions,  a  little  of  the  despotism  of  Mr.  Moray,  with  all  that 
•was  tender  and  good,  and  her  soliloquy  terminated,  as  most 
of  her  soliloquies  had  done  of  late,  with,  "  Oh  !  when  will 
Hugh  come  ?  " 

These  thoughts  had  held  her  long  awake,  and  as  she 
turned  restlessly  on  her  pillow,  the  clock  in  the  hall  below 
struck  one.  Soon  after  she  heard  the  front  door  creak  on 
its  hinges,  and  she  knew  by  that  very  creaking,  that  it  was 
opened  slowly  and  cautiously  ;  for  she  had  made  quite  a 
study  during  her  uncle's  illness,  of  opening  all  the  doors 
about  the  house  with  the  least  possible  noise,  and  she  had 
found  that  this  door,  while  it  creaked  under  her  slow,  care- 


TWO   PICTURES.  161 

ful  manipulation,  was  perfectly  silent  under  Charlie's  care- 
less  fling.  The  very  conviction  that  this  person  did  not 
mean  to  be  heard  made  her  nervous.  Could  it  be  Charlie 
returning  home  ?  No — she  was  sure  it  could  not  be,  for  she 
heard  this  person  descending  the  steps.  Her  chamber  was  at 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  a  full  moon  was  shining  on  the 
opposite  side,  though  her  windows  were  in  shadow.  She 
started  from  her  bed,  and  looking  out,  saw — could  it  be 
Saville  ? — crossing  the  street.  She  drew  nearer  the  window  ; 
he  was  now  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  Suddenly  he  paused, 
and  turned  toward  the  house,  lifting  his  eyes  toward  her 
room.  The  moonlight  streamed  full  upon  his  face,  and  she 
saw  it  as  if  she  had  stood  beside  him.  There  was  a  smile 
upon  it,  and  yet  she  shrank  back  and  drew  her  breath  as  if 
from  actual  pain  as  she  encountered  the  glance  which  seemed 
to  flash  directly  upon  her.  It  was  a  glance  she  never  forgot, 
and  never  recalled  without  a  shuddering  thrill — the  exulting 
glance  of  a  demon  whose  prey  was  delivered  to  him.  •  It 
haunted  her  even  in  her  sleep  that  night ;  the  morning  light 
could  not  drive  it  away,  and  though  the  pleasant,  friendly 
look  which  Mr.  Saville  wore  when  they  met,  made  her  say 
to  herself,  "  It  was  my  fancy," — when  he  was  gone,  and  she 
recalled  his  face,  it  was  as  she  had  seen  it  in  the  moonlight. 

Mr.  Saville  brought  a  rough  copy  of  the  will,  and  left  it 
with  Mr.  Moray  for  Mr.  Mellen's  examination. 

"  Clever  fellow,  that  Saville,"  said  Mr.  Mellon,  after  he 
had  read  it  carefully  over ;  "  there  is  scarcely  anything  to 
correct ;  but  we  cannot  be  too  cautious  in  such  matters,  es 
pecially  as  your  niece  will  doubtless  marry  one  day,  and 
her  husband  may  try  to  pick  a  flaw — so  I  will  make  one  or 
two  pencil  marks  here  on  the  margin." 

And  with  these  pencil  marks  it  was  returned  to  Mr.  Sa 
ville,  with  a  request  that  he  would  bring  it  at  four  o'clock 
the  next  afternoon,  if  possible,  as  Mr.  Mcllen  would  be  there 


102  TWO   PICTURES. 

at  that  time,  and  Mr.  Moray  would  like  to  have  him  wit 
ness  his  signature,  and  take  charge  of  the  instrument  for 
him. 

"  It  is  a  sort  of  memento  mori  that  a  sick  man  does  not 
greatly  like  to  keep  in  his  thoughts,"  he  said  with  a  smile, 
which  he  strove  in  vain  to  make  cheerful ;  "  when  once  it  is 
scaled  up  and  put  in  his  hands,  I  shall  dismiss  it  from  my 
mind  altogether." 

Mr.  Saville  wras  detained  "  accidentally  " — we  use  his 
own  words — coming  at  eight,  instead  of  four  o'clock.  Of 
course,  Mr.  Mellen  was  not  there. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  "  but  I  have 
brought  the  original  copy  with  his  pencil  marks,  and  if  you 
will  look  over  that  while  I  read  the  other,  you  will  see  that 
I  have  exactly  conformed  to  his  directions ;  then  we  can 
complete  the  signing  and  sealing,  and  it  will  be  ready  for 
your  delivery  to  Mr.  Mellen  when  he  calls  again,  and  you 
may  dismiss  it  as  completely  from  your  mind  as  if  it  were 
already  delivered." 

Mr.  Moray  hesitated  a  moment,  for  he  had  wished  Mr. 
Mellen's  signature ;  but  he  was  very  anxious  to  complete 
the  business — he  was  afraid  of  delay,  and  there  was  more 
earnest  than  jest  in  his  desire  to  dismiss  it  from  his  mind  ; 
so  he  held  out  his  hand  at  last  for  the  rough  draft,  saying, 
"  Very  well,  I  will  look  on  while  you  read  the  other,  and 
then  we  will  call  in  Mrs.  Moray,  and  she  and  you  can  wit 
ness  my  signature." 

Mr.  Saville  took  from  the  table  where  he  had  laid 
it,  a  plain  black  morocco  portfolio,  and  handed  Mr. 
Moray  the  rough  draft ;  then,  holding  the  portfolio  in 
his  hand,  read  the  will,  very  slowly  and  deliberately, 
glancing  occasionally  at  Mr.  Moray  to  see  if  all  was 
right.  All  was  right ;  not  a  word,  not  a  letter  out  of 
place.  Mr.  Moray  asked  to  look  at  it ;  it  was  handed  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  163 

him,  still  in  the  portfolio.  He  read  it  carefully  to  himself, 
while  Mr.  Saville,  with  an  unnatural  pallor  on  his  face, 
watched  his  every  movement. 

"  And  now  the  signatures,"  said  Mr.  Moray,  looking  up 
gravely  ;  "  ring  the  bell,  if  you  please,  and  I  will  send  for 
Mrs.  Moray." 

Mr.  Saville  rung,  the  message  was  sent,  and  Mrs. 
Moray  entered.  Mr.  Moray  sat  at  the  table  with  the  port 
folio  before  him  ;  a  glance  quick  and  furtive  passed  between 
Mrs.  Moray  and  Mr.  Saville  ;  she  was  flushed  and  restless — 
he,  ghastly  white,  with  a  still  fixedness  of  manner. 

"  Mrs.  Moray,  I  troubled  you  to  come  in  that  you 
might  witness  my  signature  to  my  will ;  pray,  take  a  seat." 
He  turned,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  inkstand  on  the  table  beside 
him.  "  Where  is  my  pen  ? "  he  asked  ;  "  I  am  sure  it  was 
here  a  moment  ago." 

And  so  it  had  been,  but  Mr.  Saville  had  dexterously 
removed  it. 

"  Never  mind,  sir,  take  mine ;  you  will  find  it  writes 
very  well." 

He  dipped  it  himself  into  the  inkstand,  but  not  into  the 
ink,  as  he  spoke,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Moray,  who  received 
it  silently,  and  signed,  in  a  bold,  full,  and  somewhat  heavy 
hand,  Hugh  Moray.  The  seal  had  been  already  affixed. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Moray,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  as  rigid  as  his  movements. 

With  another  quick  glance  at  him,  Mrs.  Moray  drew 
near  the  table,  took  the  pen,  and  signed,  Ellen  Moray,  then 
handed  it  to  Mr.  Saville,  who  wrote  underneath,  Richard 
Saville. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Saville,  will  you  please  fold  it  the  size 
of  this  envelope  ?  "  turning  to  the  drawer  beside  him  for  an 
envelope  as  he  spoke.  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Mr. 
Saville  had  drawn  a  paper  from  within  the  one  thus  signed. 


164  TWO   PICTURES. 

It  presented  a  precisely  similar  appearance  in  every  re 
spect,  seal  and  signatures  occupying  the  same  position  in 
each.  'Rapidly,  Mr.  Saville  folded  it  to  the  size  of  the 
envelope  given  him,  and  placed  it  within  it.  Then  he  lighted 
the  little  candle  in  the  inkstand,  and  gave  the  envelope  and  a 
stick  of  sealing  wax  to  Mr.  Moray,  who  immediately  scaled 
it,  impressing  on  it  his  own  private  seal. 

Each  of  the  three  gathered  there,  drew  a  long,  full  breath 
as  this  was  done. 

"  I  shall  sleep  the  better  for  that  to-night,"  said  Mr. 
Moray,  "  and  I  think  if  you  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Saville,  I 
will  retire  at  once.  Good  night !  Good  night,  Mrs.  Moray  ! " 

lie  passed  out  of  the  library.  Those  he  left,  spoke  not, 
moved  not,  till  they  heard  him  speak  to  Augusta  two  rooms 
away,  and  then,  attended  by  her,  ascend  the  stairs,  enter  his 
chamber  and  close  the  door.  Then  Mr.  Saville  turned  to 
his  companion,  slightly  opened  his  portfolio,  and  gave  her 
a  glimpse  of  the  paper  just  signed. 

"  These  copying  machines  are  invaluable,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice ;  "  you  see  that  sheet  in  the  portfolio  which  looks 
somewhat  like  a  black  slate  ;  there  must  be  some  pigment 
upon  it — it  does  not  come  off  except  on  considerable  pres 
sure  ;  but  when  this  pen,  which  I  suppose  contains  some  of 
the  same  pigment,  is  pressed  on  a  sheet  above,  the  sheet 
immediately  in  contact  with  that  leaf  receives  exactly  the 
same  characters.  Capital  idea,  isn't  it?"  And  Mr.  Sa 
ville  closed  this  seeming  portfolio,  and  buttoned  it  up 
carefully  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  as  if  it  had  ac 
quired  new  value  in  his  eyes. 

"  Had  you  not  better  burn  that  copy  at  once  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Moray,  in  a  whisper,  and  glancing  quickly  around  as 
she  spoke. 

"  Burn  it  I  Oh,  no,  thank  you  !     I  shallkeep  it." 

Mrs.  Moray  made  no  remonstrance,  but  she  felt  that 


TWO   PICTURES.  165 

her  punishment  had  already  begun.  Verily  our  sins  do  find 
us  out,  and  that  without  long  search !  This  thoughtless, 
selfish,  false  woman  of  the  world,  had  still  been  held  to  the 
days  of  her  innocence  by  one  memory — the  memory  of  the 
evening  prayer  said  first  at  her  mother's  knee,  and  continued 
ever  since  with  something  of  the  superstitious  feeling  with 
which  an  African  recites  the  charm  that  is  to  secure  him 
from  witchcraft.  To-night  she  dared  not  repeat  that 
prayer. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Moray  was  in  unusually  good  spir 
its,  and  talked,  as  he  had  not  done  since  his  illness,  of  his 
return  home  as  soon  as  Congress  should  adjourn. 

"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  let  you  write  Mr.  Mortimer  of  my 
illness,"  he  said  to  Augusta,  "  he  would  come  to  me  imme 
diately,  I  know  ;  but  such  hurried  journeys  do  not  suit  an 
old  man  like  him,  and  I  could  not  have  delayed  here  even  to 
give  him  rest ;  as  soon  as  I  am  free,  you  and  I  and  Hugh, 
if  he  will,  must  set  out  for  St.  Mary's.  By  the  by,  I  have  a 
promise  to  exact  from  you."  Mr.  Moray  spoke  almost 
gaily,  regarding  Augusta  with  a  smile  that  had  more  of 
playfulness  in  it  than  she  ever  remembered  to  have  seen 
upon  his  face  in  health.  She  had  not  time  to  question  what 
the  promise  was,  for  just  then  Mrs.  Moray  entered  with  the 
papers  and  letters  delivered  by  the  postman  at  the  door. 

"  There  is  one  from  Hugh,  I  think,"  she  said,  as  she 
handed  the  package  to  Mr.  Moray. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  and  quickly  breaking  the  seal,  and 
glancing  over  it,  he  added,  "  It  is  to  say  that  he  hoped  to  be 
here  a  few  hours  after'his  letter.  His  cause  is  gained  ;  Mr. 
Hoi  ton  is  able  to  resume  business,  and  there  is  nothing 
further  to  detain  him.  You  must  give  orders  to  have  his 
room  ready,  Augusta  ;  this  letter  must  have  arrived  in  the 
night,  and  I  should  not  wonder  to  see  him  at  any  moment 
now." 


166  TWO   PICTURES. 

Augusta  rose  immediately  and  left  the  room.  Perhaps 
she  was  not  sorry  to  escape  with  her  burning  cheeks  and 
beating  heart  from  the  eyes,  which,  as  a  momentary  glance 
had  shown  her,  were  fixed  on  her  while  her  uncle  spoke. 
If  so,  she  did  not  attain  her  object,  for  she  was  instantly 
followed  by  Mrs.  Moray,  who  arrested  her  just  as  she  was 
crossing  the  hall  to  ascend  the  stairs. 

"  Come  with  me  to  my  room,  Augusta  ;  1  want  to  speak 
to  you  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Moray.  There  was  a  tremor 
in  her  usually  steady  voice,  which  Augusta  had  never  heard 
there  before. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  startled 
manner.     "  Has  anything  happened  to  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  happened  to  him  ;  and  yet  what  I  have 
to  say  relates  to  him.  But  come  with  me ;  I  cannot  tell  you 
here." 

Mrs.  Moray  began  to  ascend  the  stairs,  and  Augusta  fol- 
lowecl,  wondering  and  agitated,  for  there  was  something  in 
Mrs.  Moray's  voice  and  manner  that  told,  as  plainly  as 
words  could  have  done,  that  she  was  to  hear  what  was 
painful.  This  impression  did  not  decrease  when  Mrs. 
Moray,  having  held  the  door  of  the  room  open  till  she 
entered,  locked  it  after  her,  and  going  to  her  desk  unlocked 
it  with  a  little  key  fastened  to  her  watch  chain,  and  taking  a 
letter  from  a  private  drawer,  placed  it  in  her  hand,  saying, 
"  Read  it." 

"  The  letter  is  to  you,"  said  Augusta,  drawn  by  curios 
ity,  yet  repelled  by  some  feeling  to  which  she  could  not 
give  a  name,  from  opening  it. 

"  It  is  to  me,  from  Hugh.  I  received  it  a  week  ago  and 
ought  to  have  shown  it  to  you  sooner,  but  I  wanted  cour 
age  ;  now,  Hugh  is  coming,  and  if  it  be  done  at  all,  it  must 
be  done  quickly.  Read,  then." 

Augusta  no  longer  hesitated.     The  paper  trembled  in 


TWO   PICTUKES.  167 

her  hand,  and  her  color  came  and  went.  She  soon  forgot 
Mrs.  Moray,  who  sank  upon  a  chair,  as  if  unable  to  sup 
port  herself,  but  who  never  for  a  moment  removed  her  keen 
eyes  from  the  face  of  her  victim ;  she  saw  the  very  moment 
in  which  her  arrow  entered  the  heart  at  which  it  was  aimed, 
and  a  quick  drawn  breath,  a  sudden  collapsing  of  her  whole 
frame,  showed  that  she  had  not  yet  become  wholly  insensi 
ble  to  the  pang  she  was  inflicting.  That  it  was  a  pang  of 
no  ordinary  bitterness,  the  sudden,  ghastly  pallor  that  over 
spread  Augusta's  face — the  one  wild  glance  that  shot  from 
her  eyes  to  Mrs.  Moray  as  if  she  would  question  the  reality 
of  what  she  read,  sufficiently  proved.  For  a  moment  Mrs. 
Moray  feared  that  she  would  faint ;  but  that  single  glance, 
the  consciousness  awakened  that  she  was  keenly  observed, 
roused  into  action  what  had,  till  of  late,  been  the  dominant 
passion  of  her  being — pride.  The  current  of  life  which  had 
retreated  to  her  heart  rushed  back  in  a  swollen  tide,  dyeing 
face  and  neck  and  brow,  and  filling  her  pulses  till  the  throb 
bing  of  her  heart  and  temples  became  evident  to  the  onlooker. 
It  has  been  said  by  one  of  the  best  physiologists  of  our 
time,  that  man  contains  within  the  circle  of  his  being  the 
sum  of  all  vegetable  and  animal  life,  with  that  higher  life 
superadded,  which  was  breathed  into  him  by  the  Creator  at 
his  birth,  and  in  virtue  of  which  he  became  a  "  living  spirit." 
There  certainly  are  moments  when  the  human  countenance 
seems  to  wear  a  wonderful  likeness  to  the  type  of  some  par 
ticular  animal.  As  Mrs.  Moray  cowered  before  the  flashing 
eyes  that  Augusta  turned  upon  her,  the  fox,  cunning,  yet 
fearful,  looked  strangely  out  from  her  handsome  features. 
Augusta  had  drawn  herself  up  to  her  utmost  height  as  she 
held  the  letter  out  to  her.  Her  lips  moved,  but  no  sounds 
issued  from  them  at  first.  She  was  not  to  be  conquered, 
however  ;  one  struggle  more,  and  the  words  came  in  a  voice 
soft  and  clear. 


168  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  cannot  understand  by  what  right,  madam,  you  have 
made  me  the  subject  of  such  a  correspondence." 

"  Correspondence,  my  dear?  indeed,  I  said  nothing  at  all 
— a  mere  jest  on  a  subject  which  I  thought  a  perfectly  under 
stood  affair ;  and  I  never  should  have  showed  you  this,  but 
I  thought  you  ought  to  see  it  before  Hugh  came." 

"  It  was  perfectly  unnecessary,  madam  ;  I  was  under  no 
mistake  such  as  you  seem  to  have  been  ;  it  would  have  been 
better  to  commit  it  to  the  flames,  as  you  were  requested  to 
do." 

A  little  deeper  tone  of  voice,  as  if  some  effort  was  neces 
sary  to  keep  it  steady,  was  the  only  mark  of  unusual  emo 
tion  which  attended  these  words.  Mrs.  Moray  was  bewil 
dered,  and  began  to  think  that  she  had  intrigued  very  un 
necessarily  in  this  instance.  However,  she  comforted  her 
self  in  the  belief  that  at  least  she  had  done  no  harm,  and 
taking  the  letter,  she  said,  with  something  like  a  sense  of 
relief,  "  I  will  follow  your  advice  and  burn  it,  and  we  will 
never  speak  of  it  to  any  one.  Especially,  I  must  beg  of  you 
not  to  mention  it  to  Hugh — he  would  be  so  angry  with  me 
for  showing  it  to  you.  Will  you  promise  me  this  ?  " 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  that  I  shall  ever  recur  to  it 
again— even  in  thought,"  she  added,  after  the  slightest  per 
ceptible  pause. 

"  But  promise  ;  will  you  promise  ?" 

There  was  in  Mrs.  Moray,  as  she  rose  in  uttering  these 
words  and  placed  herself  between  Augusta  and  the  door  to 
which  she  had  turned,  an  eagerness  of  tone  and  manner,  that 
sent  a  sudden  dart  of  suspicion  even  into  the  agitated  mind 
of  the  proud  and  passionate  girl.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Mrs.  Moray's  face ;  it  grew  visibly  paler  under  her  gaze. 

"  Permit  me,  if  you  please,  to  see  that  letter  again." 

Mrs.  Moray  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  moment.  To  refuse 
vrould  be  to  strengthen  the  suspicion  which  she  saw  had 


TWO    riCTUKES.  169 

already  been  excited.  The  letter  was  given.  Augusta 
moved  to  the  window,  and  by  the  full  light  there  examined 
the  address,  the  seal,  the  post  mark  ;  then  she  unfolded  the 
letter,  subjected  the  interior  to  the  same  close  inspection, 
and  then  read  again,  "  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I 
have  never  given  you  or  any  one  the  slightest  foundation 
for  attributing  to  me  any  desire  to  establish  other  than 

friendly  relations  with  Miss  A M .  That  you  have 

been  equally  mistaken  in  the  young  lady's  views  1  feel  as 
certain.  She  has  too  much  innate  dignity  of  character  to 
have  given  such  feeling  as  you  intimate  to  one  who  has  cer 
tainly  done  nothing  to  deserve  it  from  her.  It  is  only  my 
haste  to  free  her  from  insinuations  which  I  am  sure  she 
would  resent,  that  gives  me  courage  to  use  even  her  initials 
in  such  a  connection.  I  entreat  you  to  burn  this  letter  im 
mediately,  as  I  have  already  done  yours."  This  passage 
read,  the  letter  was  folded  again  and  returned  to  Mrs. 
Moray. 

"  Will  you  promise  now  ? "  asked  that  lady  as  she 
received  it ;  "  will  you  promise  that  you  will  never  let 
Hugh  know  I  have  shown  it  to  you  1 " 

"  If  you  consider  such  a  promise  necessary,  it  is  yours  ; 
I  could  have  little  pleasure  in  speaking  of  it — least  of  all  to 
him." 

There  was  a  world  of  painfully  suppressed  passion  in  her 
tones. 

"Then  here  ends  the  whole  foolish  affair."  She  lit  a 
match  and  held  it  to  the  paper  as  she  spoke.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  the  mistake  I  made  in  thinking  that  you  needed 
this  to  guard  you  from  a  more  fatal  error.  There — the  last 
word  has  vanished  in  smoke,  and  you  '  pass  on  in  maiden 
meditation,  fancy  free.'  " 

She  moved  from  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  Augusta 
passed  out  with  a  somewhat  more  stately  and  deliberate 


170  TWO   PICTCKES. 

step  than  usual.  As  the  door  closed  after  her,  Mrs.  Moray 
smiled  and  said  to  herself,  "  I  was  right ;  she  almost  deceived 
me  at  one  time  by  her  proud  endurance ;  but  I  was  right, 
and  she  has  carried  away  with  her  the  sharpest  arrow  that 
ever  pierces  a  woman's  heart."  She  moved  twice  across 
the  room,  and  then  the  almost  fierce  gleaming  of  her  eyes 
softened,  and  she  added  :  "  After  all,  it  was  really  the  kind 
est  thing  I  could  do  for  her ;  there  will  be  nothing  now  to 
prevent  her  from  marrying  Charley — so  no  harm  will  come 
to  her  from  Saville's  plans  ;  after  all,  they  were  more  his 
plans  than  mine" 

Augusta  left  Mrs.  Moray's  room,  intending  to  proceed 
to  her  own  ;  but  before  she  had  reached  it,  she  was  met  by 
her  uncle's  attendant,  Gib,  who  said  :  "  Master  wants  to  see 
you,  Miss  'Gusty  ;  I  been  a  looking  for  you,  ma'am." 

"  I  will  come  directly,  Gib,"  she  replied,  still  moving  on 
in  the  opposite  direction ;  for  there  was  a  tempest  in  her 
heart  which  she  felt  must  have  way — she  must  be  alone. 

"  Dere  he  is  a  calling  now,  ma'am  ;  won't  you  please  to 
come,  Miss  'Gusty  ?  Master  has  such  inviolate  ways,  ma'am ; 
I'm  feared  he'll  hurt  hisself." 

Augusta  had  immediately  turned  at  her  uncle's  voice, 
for  it  sounded  sharp  and  imperative,  so  that  Gib's  conclud 
ing  words  were  spoken  as  he  followed  her  down  stairs. 
They  entered  the  library  together.  Mr.  Moray  looked 
quickly  up. 

"  You  may  go,  Gib  ;  I  want  to  speak  to  Miss  Augusta  ; 
I  am  expecting  Mr.  Hugh  ;  look  out  for  him,  and  send  him 
here-  as  soon  as  he  comes." 

Gib  went,  leaving  the  door  open  behind  him. 

"  Sit  down,  Augusta ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  you  look 
pale."  lie  paused,  but  she  did  not  answer ;  indeed,  it  is  prob 
able  that,  though  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  she  did  not 
know  what  he  was  saying.  lie  resumed  :  "  Poor  child  !  you 


TWO    riCTUKES.  171 

have  had  too  much  anxiety  of  late ;  but  Hugh  will  take 
better  care  of  you."  A  visible  shiver  passed  over  her  frame, 
and  Mr.  Moray  took  her  cold  hand  and  placed  her  beside 
him,  just  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"  You  are  certainly  not  well.  I  l;ave  been  selfish  in 
letting  you  do  so  much  for  me  ;  when  have  I  not  been  sel 
fish  ?  I  have  never  cared  for  you  as  I  should,  but  you  will 
find  I  have  taken  care  of  your  interests,  and  you  will  be 
happy,  you  and  Hugh ;  you  will  marry  him  by  and  by." 

"  Never  !  never !  "  she  exclaimed,  starting  from  her 
seat;  the  face  just  now  so  pale,  flushed  crimson,  her  pulses 
throbbing,  her  form,  which  had  seemed  ready  to  sink  beneath 
its  weight  of  trial,  suddenly  instinct  with  life  and  passion. 
Mr.  Moray  looked  at  her  with  something  wilder  than  sur* 
prise  gleaming  from  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  sharply ;  "  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  I  said  you  would  marry 
Hugh." 

"  And  I  say  I  will  never  marry  him  ;  I  would  sooner  beg 
my  bread  from  door  to  door ;  no,  there  is  no  imaginable 
degradation  that  would  be  equal  to  that." 

She  glanced  upward,  as  if  appealing  to  Heaven,  and  in 
the  mirror  that  hung  above  the  mantle  shelf,  she  caught  the 
reflection  of  a  tall,  manly  form  and  of  a  white,  stony  face, 
from  which  dark,  fiery  eyes  glared  on  her.  She  did  not 
dream  that  Hugh's  eyes  could  look  thus.  Perhaps  he  had 
not  himself  dreamed  of  the  volcanic  fire  in  his  nature  which 
that  moment  unveiled  to  both.  Involuntarily  she  looked 
back  ;  Mr.  Moray  glanced  in  the  same  direction,  saw  Hugh, 
and  rose  with  an  agitated  smile  to  welcome  him.  He  took 
one  step  forward,  held  out  his  hand  and  strove  to  speak, 
but  instead  of  words  there  came  a  gurgling,  gasping  sound  ; 
he  tottered,  and  ere  Hugh,  who  sprang  forward  instantly, 


172  TWO   PICTURES. 

could  reach  his  side,  he  fell  heavily  back  into  his  chair  with 
convulsed  features  and  rigid  limbs. 

When  Augusta  had  seen  her  uncle  ill  before,  though  agi 
tated  to  the  very  depths  of  her  soul,  she  had  never  lost  her 
self-command  ;  but  now  self-reproach  gave  new  bitterness 
to  her  suffering,  and  pressed  from  her  heart  a  despairing 
cry,  and  "  I  have  killed  him  !  I  have  killed  him  !  "  burst 
from  her  quivering  lips. 

Completely  paralyzed  by  this  horrible  thought,  all  those 
tender  cares  which  had  given  a  safe  outlet  and  noble  expres 
sion  to  her  burden  of  sorrow  in  Mr.  Moray's  former  attack 
were  surrendered  to  others.  It  was  Hugh  who  summoned 
aid,  despatched  a  messenger  for  the  physician,  and  having 
aided  to  bear  the  unconscious  sufferer  to  his  room,  stood 
beside  him  to  offer  the  ministrations  of  pitying  tenderness. 
While  stooping  over  Mr.  Moray  in  some  of  these  ministra 
tions,  he  heard  a  slight  movement  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bed,  and  raising  his  head,  saw  Augusta  there.  The  proud 
fire  had  gone  from  her  eyes,  the  color  from  her  face,  while 
instead  of  the  haughty  carriage  and  the  passionate  life  with 
which  her  whole  frame  had  seemed  to  thrill  but  an  hour 
before,  her  form  was  bent  as  if  under  the  weight  of  years. 
Never  had  his  heart  yearned  over  her  with  such  unspeakable 
tenderness  as  at  that  moment.  He  longed  to  fold  her  to  his 
bosom,  to  soothe,  to  comfort  her  ;  but  the  memory  of  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard  on  his  first  arrival  repelled  him.  Only 
their  eyes  met ;  how  differently  from  that  last  glance  of  fire  ; 
lier's  were  now  beseeching  and  humble,  his  sad  and  tender. 
Words  might  have  followed,  and  the  barrier  so  artfully  raised 
between  them  have  been  swept  away  in  the  flood-tide  of 
feeling,  had  not  .the  physician  at  that  moment  entered. 

"  He  is  better  again,  dear  lady ;  he  will  recover  from 
this,"  said  good  Dr.  Frampton  to  Augusta,  whom  he  found, 
an  hour  after,  standing  beside  her  uncle's  door,  looking 


TWO    riCTUKES.  173 

more  like  an  unquiet  ghost  than  like  a  creature  of  flesh  and 
blood. 

"  It  was  I,  doctor.  It  was  I  who  made  him  ill,"  came  in 
husky  tones  from  her  quivering  lips. 

The  doctor  had  been  accustomed  to  minister  to  the 
wounded  mind  as  well  as  to  the  body,  and  asking  no  ques 
tions,  he  took  the  ice-cold  hands  in  his  and  said,  "  My  poor 
child  !  that  is  not  so  ;  this  attack  has  been  threatening  for 
days ;  I  knew  when  I  left  your  uncle  this  morning  that  it 
could  not  long  be  warded  off.  Only  your  devoted  care  has 
kept  it  off  so  long." 

"  Are  you  sure,  doctor  ?  are  you  quite  sure  ? "  she 
asked,  as  a  slight  tinge  of  color  returned  to  her  cheek  and  a 
little  life  to  her  eye. 

"  Quite  sure  ;  so  sure  that  I  do  not  feel  satisfied  for  my 
patient  till  I  see  you  at  his  side;  your  cousin  is  very  kind 
and  very  considerate,  but  there  is  no  nurse  like  a  woman." 

Augusta  breathed  freely  again ;  the  blood  flowed  again 
through  the  veins  in  which  it  had  seemed  to  stagnate ;  she  was 
like  one  awakening  from  a  frightful  nightmare.  Every  sorrow 
which  brings  with  it  no  remorse  is  endurable,  and  this  she 
felt  as  the  doctor  led  her  to  her  uncle's  side,  and  she  looked 
from  his  pallid  face,  now  resting  in  a  deathlike  sleep,  to  the 
sterner  and  scarce  less  composed  features  of  Hugh,  whose 
eyes,  after  one  rapid  glance,  no  longer  sought  her  face. 
Thus  they  sat  through  the  darkening  shadows  of  the  evening, 
and  the  long,  still  hours  of  the  night,  together,  yet  apart. 
Their  eyes  never  met ;  their  hands  occasionally  touched  each 
other  while  busied  about  the  patient,  but  it  was  as  stone 
touches  stone.  As  the  gray  light  of  the  early  dawn  made 
yet  paler  the  pale  light  of  the  lamp,  Hugh  stole  around  the 
bed,  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  Will  you  not  leave  your  uncle  to  me,  and  rest  for  a 
few  hours  ?  "  he  said,  softly. 


TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  will  rest  here,"  she  answered,  leaning  her  head,  as 
she  spoke,  against  the  side  of  the  large  cushioned  chair  in 
which  she  sat,  and  closing  her  eyes.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
remonstrate,  but  went  cautiously  back  to  his  former  place. 
She  did  not  sleep,  and  there  was  little  rest  in  the  thoughts 
which  kept  up  a  wild  tumult  in  her  soul  while  she  reclined 
there  with  closed  eyes,  and  all  the  appearance  of  perfect 
tranquillity.  About  an  hour  had  thus  passed  when  her  ex 
cited  ear  became  conscious  of  a  slight  movement.  She 
opened  her  eyes  upon  her  uncle.  He  lay  as  he  had  done 
for  hours,  breathing  quietly ;  but  Hugh  had  left  his  place, 
and  was  speaking  to  some  one  outside  of  the  door.  Again 
she  lay  still,  till  a  stealthy  tread  beside  her,  and  a  whis 
pered,  "  She  are  'sleep,  Mas'  Hugh,"  made  her  look  up  to 
see  Gib  standing  beside  her  with  a  tray,  holding  a  cup  of 
coffee. 

"  I  am  not  asleep,  Gib  ;  but  I  do  not  wish  anything." 
"Set  the  tray  down,  Gib;   Miss  Moray  will  take  the 
coffee  presently." 

Hugh  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  but  with  something  of  quiet 
decision  more  powerful  by  far  than  the  most  vehement 
urgency.  It  seemed  to  say,"  No  reasonable  being  can  con 
test  a  point  so  trifling  yet  so  clearly  right,"  and  Augusta, 
with  a  little  irritation,  both  of  feeling  and  manner,  at  being 
thus  ruled,  stopped  Gib  by  a  touch  on  his  arm,  took  the  cup 
from  the  tray,  drained  its  contents,  laid  it  back,  and  resting 
her  head,  closed  her  eyes  again,  without  a  word. 

Mr.  Moray  awoke  from  this  long  sleep  apparently  well. 
By  his  physician's  direction,  all  appearances  indicative  of 
the  night's  watch  or  of  his  previous  illness  had  been 
removed,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  he  was  not  only  un 
conscious  of  his  attack,  but  also  of  the  circumstances  that 
had  immediately  preceded  it.  Hugh's  presence  was  a 
pleasant  surprise  to  him.  He  had  insisted  upon  being 


TWO   PICTURES.  175 

dressed  as  usual  and  going  to  his  library,  and  though  com 
pelled  to  acknowledge  himself  somewhat  feebler  than  he 
had  been,  he  was  greatly  irritated  by  Gib's  well  meant  but 
injudicious  efforts  to  induce  him  to  remain  in  his  own  room. 
He  complained  to  his  physician  of  it  in  a  vehement  tone, 
declaring  that  the  associations  of  Washington  and  his  long 
indulgence  had  made  Gib  quite  forgetful  of  their  relative 
positions.  Dr.  Frampton  met  these  complaints  with  his 
usual  tact,  careful  neither  to  deny  their  validity  nor  to  treat 
them  with  indifference,  yet  mingling  with  his  sympathy  so 
many  allusions  to  Gib's  fidelity  and  traits  of  his  conduct 
manifesting  his  devotion  to  his  master,  that  he  left  Mr. 
Moray  greatly  mollified,  and  rather  disposed  to  consider 
Gib's  peremptoriness  as  a  new  proof  of  his  attachment. 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  my  new  horse,  Miss  Moray  ? 
I  consider  him  the  greatest  beauty  in  Washington,"  said  Dr. 
Frampton,  as  he  prepared  to  leave  the  library. 

Augusta  rose  and  followed  him  to  a  window  of  the  front 
parlor,  which  was  separated  by  a  long  middle  room  from 
the  library.  As  they  entered  this  parlor,  they  found  Hugh 
there,  waiting  to  learn  from  the  doctor  what  he  thought  of 
Mr.  Moray's  condition.  Hugh  rose  to  leave  the  room  as  he 
saw  Augusta  enter,  but  Dr.  Frampton  laid  his  hand  on  his 
arm  as  he  was  passing  him,  and  said,  "  Stay,  Mr.  Moray,  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you  both  about  your  uncle." 

"  Not  my  uncle,  sir,"  said  Hugh,  quickly  ;  "  I  am  but  a 
distant  cousin  to  Mr.  Moray." 

"  But  a  very  devoted  friend,  as  I  can  testify,"  observed 
the  doctor. 

"  He  has  a  claim  on  me  stronger  than  kinship,  sir," 
Hugh  replied,  meeting  the  doctor's  kindly  smile  with  much 
gravity  of  manner.  "  To  his  generous  aid  I  am  indebted 
for  my  profession." 

u  Then  you  desire  to  serve  him,"  rejoined  the  doctor. 


176  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  am  here  for  no  other  purpose,"  said  Hugh,  with  an 
emphasis  that  sent  the  crimson  blood  in  a  rushing  tide  to 
the  very  temples  of  Augusta  for  one  fleeting  moment,  leav 
ing  her  the  next  more  pallid  than  before ;  "  I  am  waiting," 
he  added,  "  to  know  from  you  how  I  may  do  it  most  eflec- 
tually." 

"  And  it  is  to  tell  you  this  that  I  brought  Miss  Moray 
here,  and  that  I  have  now  requested  you  to  stay  ;  sit  down, 
my  dear  young  lady  ;  you  look  pale  and  feeble  this  morn 
ing,  and  you  will  need  all  your  strength." 

Hugh  glanced  at  Augusta's  pallid  face  as  she  sank  into 
the  chair  the  doctor  had  placed  for  her,  and  for  a  moment 
his  eyes  softened  into  somewhat  of  their  former  tenderness  ; 
it  was  but  a  moment,  and  they  gleamed  again  with  a  light 
as  keen  and  cold  as  if  it  had  been  reflected  from  an  iceberg. 

"  Dear  lady,  I  am  sorry  to  give  you  pain,"  Dr.  Framp- 
ton  continued,  retaining  the  hand  of  Augusta,  which  he  had 
taken  to  place  her  on  the  sofa  ;  "  very  sorry  ;  but  it  is  my 
duty  to  tell  you  that  I  have  no  longer  any  hope  of  being 
able  to  do  more  than  alleviate  your  uncle's  sufferings."  lie 
paused  a  moment  as  he  saw  the  spasm  of  pain  which  con 
tracted  the  marble  features  he  was  watching ;  but  it  passed 
instantly,  and  as  it  came,  without  a  sound,  and  he  continued : 
"  Mr.  Moray's  symptoms  this  morning  mark  more  rapidly 
progressing  disease  of  the  brain  than  I  had  suffered  my 
self  to  anticipate.  You  have  too  much  good  sense  to  be 
shocked  at  my  asking  you  whether  his  business  arrange 
ments  have  been  made  in  reference  to  the  possibility  of  a 
sudden  death." 

"  His  will  was  made  more  than  a  week  ago,"  she  said, 
in  a  low,  but  steady  voice. 

"  That  is  well !  then  I  shall  not  need  to  speak  to  him  on 
the  subject,  which  in  his  present  state  I  somewhat  feared  to 
do.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  give  you  both  the  best 


TWO   PICTURES.  177 

directions  1  can  for  his  treatment.  Medicine  can  do  little 
for  him,  but  your  cheerful  society  and  tender  care  may 
lengthen  out  his  life  for  weeks,  perhaps  for  months,  and 
make  it  peaceful  and  comfortable  to  the  close.  You  must 
be  cheerful,  yet  sympathising ;  above  all,  you  must  not 
permit  the  brain  to  be  wearied  by  argument,  or  excited  by 
opposition.  However  extravagant  may  be  his  propositions 
you  must  assent,  if  you  can,  and  when  assent  is  impossible, 
temporize ;  divert,  if  you  can,  but  never  contradict  or  oppose. 
On  you,  my  dear  Miss  Moray,  I  rely  principally  in  this,  for 
I  know  how  unfailing  is  womanly  tact  under  such  circum 
stances  ;  here,  every  man  must  acknowledge  the  superior 
ity  of  your  sex ;  your  cousin  must,  in  all  difficult  cases, 
follow  your  lead." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Hugh  began,  paused,  dropped  his 
eyes  for  a  moment,  then  lifting  them  to  the  doctor's  face, 
continued  in  a  more  resolute  tone :  "  I  am  not  quite  sure 
that  it  will  be  best  for  me  to  remain." 

"  Best !  for  yourself,  do  you  mean,  or  for  Mr.  Moray  ?  " 
asked  Dr.  Frampton,  somewhat  sharply. 

"  Best  for  Mr.  Moray,"  said  Hugh,  adding,  with  slight 
hauteur,  "  the  question  of  what  is  best  for  myself  I  should 
scarce  submit  to  another." 

"  Then,  sir,  since  you  consent  to  let  me  judge  of  what 
is  best  for  Mr.  Moray,  I  must  say  that  from  what  he  said 
to  me  this  morning  of  his  delight  at  seeing  you,  and  his 
expectations  from  you,  your  leaving  him  at  present  would 
be  a  great  injury  and  a  cruel  disappointment." 

The  doctor  spoke  very  decidedly — perhaps  he  was  a 
little  vexed  by  Hugh's  manner.  If  so,  he  must  have  been 
mollified  by  the  reply  he  received,  given  with,  an  impulsive 
warmth  all  the  more  valuable  because  it  was  so  rare  in 
Hugh  Moray.  Stretching  out  his  hand  and  grasping  the 
doctor's,  Hugh  said,  "  Enough  !  enough,  my  dear  sir  !  I  am 


178  TWO   PICTURES. 

grateful  far  the  privilege  of  ministering  in  any  way  to  Mr. 
Moray's  pleasure  or  advantage  ;  I  will  bid  you  good  morn 
ing  and  go  to  him  at  once,  leaving  Miss  Moray  at  liberty  to 
take  the  rest  she  so  much  needs." 

Augusta  did  not  take  advantage  of  the  liberty  thus 
given.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  Dr.  Frampton  left  her, 
she  entered  the  library  with  a  very  composed  manner,  and 
an  almost  smiling  face. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  heard  some  pleasant  news,  ma 
cousine"  said  Charlie,  who  was  making  his  usual  morning 
visit  to  Mr.  Moray  when  she  entered. 

Hugh  turned  to  her  and  read  that  studied  air  of  cheer 
fulness  very  differently.  The  manner  was  too  still ;  it 
marked  to  him  the  heavy,  crushing  weight  by  which  the 
usually  impulsive  nature  was  held  down,  and  beneath  the 
smile,  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  sad,  weary,  hopeless 
look,  that  sent  a  pang  to  his  generous  heart,  all  the  more 
bitter  because  he  was  no  longer  privileged  to  offer  to  her 
either  sympathy  or  support. 

Charlie,  always  impatient  of  quietude,  soon  withdrew, 
inviting  Hugh  to  accompany  him  to  the  capitol.  Hugh 
declined. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you,  Hugh,  to  stay  here  with  a  complain 
ing  old  man,'*  said  Mr.  Moray,  looking  gratefully  upon 
Hugh,  as  Charlie  closed  the  door  behind  him.  "  Though," 
he  added,  as  his  smiling  face  was  turned  toward  Augusta, 
"  I  do  not  take  the  compliment  wholly  to  myself,  I  am  none 
the  less  pleased  with  it." 

Had  his  perception  been  as  acute  as  formerly,  he  would 
have  been  startled  by  the  impassive  faces  that  met  his  kind 
ly  glances.  .  Perhaps  he  was  dimly  conscious  of  missing 
something  he  had  expected  to  meet,  for  after  a  moment's 
silence,  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  he  resumed, 
"  There  was  something  I  wanted  to  say  ;  oh,  now  I  have  it ; 


TWO   PICTUKES.  179 

you  are  engaged  ? "  and  he  looked  again  from  one  to  the 
other. 

There  was  no  answer.  Hugh  knew  not  what  to  say, 
and  Augusta's  heart  seemed  for  the  moment  to  have  stopped 
its  beating.  It  was  on  her  that  Mr.  Moray's  glance  rested 
last  and  longest.  While  thus  resting,  it  suddenly  changed 
its  expression.  Something  of  their  former  fire  shot  into  his 
eyes,  his  head  was  flung  back  with  the  haughty  gesture  so 
familiar  of  old,  as  he  said,  "  I  hope,  Miss  Moray,  you  are 
not  playing  off  the  coquettish  tricks  of  your  sex  upon  my 
friend  and  relative  here." 

"  Dear  uncle,  I  have  not  the  least  intention  to  play  the 
coquette,  I  assure  you,"  said  Augusta,  trying  to  take  his 
hand  as  she  spoke. 

"  You  are  trying  to  evade  giving  me  a  positive  answer, 
I  see,"  he  rejoined,  flinging  off"  her  hand  with  increasing  irri 
tation  as  he  spoke,  "  but  you  will  find  I  am  not  so  easily 
deceived  as  you  think.  What  do  you  say  to  all  this, 
Hugh  1 " 

"  That  you  must  not  let  your  kindness  to  me  make  you 
unkind  to  your  niece,  Mr.  Moray  ;  Augusta  and  I  perfectly 
understand  each  other,  I  assure  you  ;  there  is  no  danger  of 
any  further  mistake  or  misconception  between  us." 

The  words  were  assuring  to  Mr.  Moray,  but  in  spite  of 
all  Hugh's  efforts,  he  could  not  suppress  a  tinge  of  bitterness 
in  the  tone  which  made  itself  sufficiently  apparent  to  one 
intently  listening  ear  and  throbbing  heart. 

"Ah!  "  said  Mr.  Moray,  while  the  fire  faded  from  his 
eyes,  "  you  speak  as  a  man  should,  openly  and  honestly  ;  I 
wish  Augusta  could  be  as  open,  but  it  does  not  belong  to 
her  sex." 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  I  am  quite  as  open  and  honest  in  what  I 
say  as  Hugh  is  I "  it  was  a  retort  she  could  not  suppress, 


180  TWO   riCTUEES. 

and  to  which  her  burning  cheeks  and  quickened  breath  gave 
double  force. 

"If  that  is  true,  let  me  see  you  give  him  your  hand  and 
promise  that  you  will  be  his  as  soon  as  we  are  all  at  St. 
Mary's  again." 

"  Better  not  exact  any  promises  from  me,  uncle.  Re 
member  your  own  theory,  that  the  more  solemn  a  promise 
is,  the  more  pleasure  a  woman  has  in  breaking  it."  Her 
heart  was  trembling  within  her,  yet  it  was  scarcely  possible  to 
distinguish  from  the  truth  it  aped,  the  mockery  of  mirth  in 
her  tone  and  eyes ;  she  had  recovered  from  her  first  terror, 
and  was  beginning  to  feel  an  excitement  not  altogether  with 
out  a  strange  kind  of  pleasure  in  this  conversation  of  double 
signification. 

"  You  see,  Hugh,  she  will  not  promise ;  I  told  you  no 
woman  was  to  be  trusted." 

"  No  woman  that  makes  promises,  uncle,"  said  Augusta, 
in  the  same  seemingly  flippant  tone. 

Hugh  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  Recollecting 
the  warnings  of  Dr.  Frampton,  her  terror  of  the  past  night, 
her  sadness  but  a  few  minutes  before,  he  could  not  under 
stand  the  change,  nor  tell  which  was  real,  the  sadness  or  the 
mirth,  or  whether  both  were  alike  untrue.  He  found  noth 
ing  to  help  his  conclusions  in  the  eyes  that  met  his  with  a 
touch  of  defiance  in  their  clear,  unfaltering  glance.  It 
aroused  an  answering  spirit  in  him,  and  there  was  haughty 
carelessness  in  the  smile  with  which  he  turned  to  Mr.  Mo 
ray,  saying :  "  Be  at  rest,  sir ;  I  already  have  Augusta's 
promise  to  share  my  home  when  it  is  prepared  for  her ;  she 
will,  I  doubt  not,  gratify  you  by  giving  me  her  hand  in 
token  that  she  will  fulfil  that  pledge  when — ,"  he  paused, 
seized  the  hand  which  had  been  scarcely  lifted  to  meet  the 
one  extended  by  him,  wrung  it  in  a  moment's  passionate 


TWO   PICTURES.  181 

grasp,  whether  of  love  or  hatred,  he  could  scarce  himself 
have  told,  and  concluded,  "  when  I  shall  claim  it." 

"  Do  you  promise  this,  Augusta  ?  "  asked  the  persistent 
Mr.  Moray. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  may  do  so  in  a  spirit  as  truthful  and 
earnest  as  Hugh's  ;  but  now  I  must  run  away  from  you  for 
a  little  while." 

She  rose  quickly  and  moved  to  the  door — not  too 
quickly ;  Hugh  had  already  seen  the  sudden  fading  of  the 
flush  from  her  face  with  something  like  remorse  for  the 
selfish  passion  of  that  clasp  and  those  sneering  words. 
Faint,  dizzy,  almost  blind,  she  stumbled  to  the  door,  and 
finding  herself  unable  to  proceed,  rested  for  a  moment 
against  it. 

Mr.  Moray  did  not  see  her,  Hugh  did. 

"  Permit  me,"  said  he,  springing  to  her  side,  as  if  only 
to  open  the  door,  but  as  he  did  so,  receiving  her  sinking  form 
upon  his  arm,  and  bearing  her  to  a  sofa  in  the  next  room. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  features  still,  her  face  ghastly 
white. 

"  Augusta  !  "  Hugh's  voice  trembled  a  little  ;  there  was 
no  answer  ;  "  Augusta !  "  he  repeated  more  sharply,  but 
with  as  little  effect.  For  an  instant  he  was  almost  as  pale  as 
herself;  but  before  he  could  utter  the  wild  cry  which  even 
remembrance  of  Mr.  Moray  could  scarce  have  given  him 
power  another  moment  to  repress,  the  cool  air  from  the 
window  beside  her  recalled  her  to  life.  Her  cheeks  became 
faintly  tinged,  her  eyelids  quivered.  With  life  came  the 
consciousness  of  suffering,  and  too  feeble  to  exercise  any 
self-control,  and,  it  may  be,  not  yet  sufficiently  aroused  to 
know  that  she  was  not  alone,  the  varied  agitation  of  the  last 
night  and  of  this  morning  found  for  the  first  time  expression 
in  tears,  which  trickled  through  her  closed  lids  and  fell  in 
heavy  drops  from  her  cheek  upon  the  sofa  pillow  on  which 


182  TWO   PICTURES. 

her  head  was  resting,  while  not  a  feature,  not  a  muscle  of 
her  face,  was  moved.  Such  weeping  comes  only  from  hearts 
that  have  been  utterly  crushed.  Hugh  stood  beside  her, 
deeply  moved,  longing  to  soothe  her  as  he  had  often  done  in 
lesser  griefs,  yet  feeling  that  he  had  lost  the  power  and  the 
right,  and  fearing  even  to  stir  lest  the  discovery  of  his  pres 
ence  should  inflict  on  her  an  added  pang.  A  sigh,  which  he 
could  not  suppress,  startled  her ;  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
instantly  started  to  her  feet  and  brushed  away  the  tears  that 
were  yet  hanging  on  her  lids. 

"  You  have  been  ill,  Augusta  ;  sit  down,  and  I  will  ring 
for  your  maid,"  he  said,  gently. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  that  trouble,"  she  answered, 
coldly,  and  took  a  step  forward  ;  but  her  trembling  limbs 
refused  to  sustain  her,  and  she  sank  back  upon  the  sofa. 

Having  rung  for  her  maid,  he  returned  to  her,  and 
standing  before  her,  said,  "  Augusta,  I  have  spoken  and  acted 
under  the  dictation  of  selfish  passion  this  morning,  and  I  am 
ashamed  of  it ;  can  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

She  did  not  speak ;  she  could  not,  without  an  outburst 
of  emotion  which  she  would  rather  have  died  than  yielded 
to.  He  resumed  : 

"  You  cannot ;  well,  I  deserve  it,  perhaps ;  but  I  must 
not  lose  these  few  seconds,  my  only  opportunity,  it  may  be, 
of  saying  that,  though  I  overheard  your  scornful  rejection 
of  me  in  the  character  in  which  your  uncle  presented  me 
to  you  yesterday  evening,  I  will  yet,  if  you  permit  it,  prove 
myself  your  friend.  Be  still,  as  you  have  ever  been,  dear 
Augusta,  my  friend,  my  sister,  and  let  me  feel  that  you 
confide  in  me ;  let  rne  only  help  you  in  your  present  great 
trials,  and  I  will  ask  nothing  more." 

"  God  help  me  !  I  have  no  other  hope — no  trust  in  any 
human  creature !  "  burst  in  a  wailing  tone  from  her  over 
charged  heart. 


TWO    PICTURES. 


183 


At  that  moment  steps  were  heard  approaching,  and  he 
had  only  time  to  say,  "  Trust  me  or  not,  I  will  be  your 
friend,  and  you  shall  one  day  acknowledge  it,"  when  her 
attendant  entered. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 
But  in  battalions."  SHAKSPEABK, 

"  Pride  requires  very  costly  food— its  keeper's  happiness."— COLTON. 

THE  pledge  with  which  the  last  chapter  closed  was  well 
kept  by  Hugh  Moray.  During  the  month  which  followed, 
Mr.  Moray  grew  feebler  hourly  both  in  mind  and  body.  At 
first  he  was  peevish  and  impatient,  but  this  phase  of  his 
disease  passed  away,  leaving  him  unusually  passive  and  gen 
tle.  In  both  conditions  one  thought  alone  seemed  to  give 
him  pleasure  :  the  thought  that  Augusta  was  to  marry  Hugh, 
and  that  they  would  live  together  at  St.  Mary's. 

"  You  will  take  better  care  of  my  poor  people  than  I 
have  done,  though  I  have  tried  to  be  kind  to  them,"  he 
would  often  say  ;  sometimes  he  added,  "  Let  Mr.  Mortimer 
do  all  he  will  for  them ;  I  wish  I  had  not  opposed  him,  but 
things  seem  so  different  to  me  now." 

It  was  strange  to  see  the  apathy  with  which  Augusta 
heard  these  observations.  They  brought  no  color  to  her 
cheek,  her  eyes  remained  calm  and  impassive,  an  unnatural 
stillness  marked  her  whole  aspect  and  manner,  except  when 
she  was  seeking  to  amuse  her  uncle,  or  ministering  to  his 
wants.  Then  her  countenance  lighted  up ;  there  were  smiles 
on  her  lips  even  while  they  quivered  with  a  grief  she  would 


TWO   PICTURES.  185 

iiot  express,  and  her  eyes  shone  through  tears  which  never 
fell  till  she  was  secure  within  her  own  room.  Never  had 
she  been  so  dt'ar  to  Hugh  as  at  such  moments.  The  tender, 
protecting  sentiment  with  which  her  almost  unfriended 
childhood  kid  inspired  him,  the  more  impassioned  feeling 
awakened  by  her  grace  and  beauty  as  the  child  grew  into 
the  women,  were  now  blended  into  one,  while  each  had 
acquired  new  intensity.  There  were  times  when  the  touch 
of  her  dress,  as  she  passed  by  him,  thrilled  him  with  emo 
tions  which  all  his  manhood,  aided  by  all  his  conviction  of 
their  hopelessness,  could  scarcely  repress ;  there  were  times 
when,  as  he  heard  her  utter  words  of  cheerful  hope,  in  tones 
which  she  strove  in  vain  to  render  steady,  as  he  saw  her 
smiles  trembling  through  tears,  he  was  compelled  to  rush 
from  the  room,  that  he  might  combat  in  silence  and  solitude 
the  strong  impulse  to  fold  her  to  his  heart  and  entreat  her 
to  weep  out  all  her  sorrows  there.  Mr.  Moray  often  fell 
asleep  in  the  midst  of  conversation  with  them,  and  as  he  was 
always  annoyed  at  finding  either  of  them  gone  when  he 
awoke,  they  were  obliged  to  pass  hours  of  the  day  com 
pletely  tete-a-tete.  Generally,  these  tete-d.-tetes  passed  in, 
perfect  silence,  while  Hugh  would  read,  or  seem  to  read, 
and  Augusta  would  take  up  some  piece  of  embroidery  or 
other  feminine  work.  One  day,  however,  Augusta  started, 
as  Hugh,  whom  she  supposed  to  be  on  the  other  side  of  her 
uncle,  spoke,  and  she  found  that  he  was  standing  beside  her 
chair. 

"  Augusta,"  he  said,  in  low  tones,  "  I  am  not  satisfied  at 
suffering  your  uncle  to  continue  under  such  misapprehen 
sions  in  regard  to  our  relations  to  each  other." 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  Augusta's  temples  ;  it  was  the 
first  time  she  had  felt  its  flow  for  many  days.  Before  the 
quick,  proud  words  could  follow,  Hugh  spoke  again. 

"  We  cannot  indulge  a  hope  that  he  will  ever  be  better, 


186  TWO   PICTURES. 

and  he  sometimes  uses  words  that  make  me  fear  his  impres 
sions  regarding  us  may  influence  his  disposal  of  his  prop 
erty." 

"  My  uncle's  misconception  is  as  annoying  to  me  as  it  can 
be  to  you,"  she  answered,  coldly  and  haughtily,  "  but  after 
what  Dr.  Frampton  said,  I  cannot  undertake  to  undeceive 
him  ;  I  can  only  promise  you  that  any  arrangement  of  prop 
erty  which  you  desire,  hereafter,  shall  meet  with  no  opposi 
tion  from  me  ;  if  you  still  fear  that  your  interests  may  be 
compromised — " 

"  I  will  not  permit  you  to  finish  a  sentence  as  unworthy 
of  yourself  as  it  is  insulting  to  me,"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
with  dignified  composure  on  her  flushed  and  agitated  face ; 
"  it  is  enough  that  I  have  your  unconditional  promise  to 
consent  to  any  arrangement  of  property  that  I  desire." 

He  was  turning  away,  but  she  stopped  him  by  a  motion 
of  her  hand,  and  said,  "  My  promise  is  not  unconditional ;  I 
will  consent  to  any  arrangement  that  is  not  intended  to 
subject  me  to  obligations  more  humiliating  than  the  most 
abject  poverty." 

It  was  Hugh's  turn  to  redden,  yet  his  words  were  calm 
and  cold  :  "  I  understand  you  ;  Dr.  Frampton  must  under 
take  the  communication  which  I  cannot  in  honor  delay." 

He  took  his  hat  from  the  table  as  he  spoke,  but  be-fore 
he  could  leave  the  room,  Mr.  Moray  awoke  and  called  him 
to  his  side.  When  he  had  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
Dr.  Frampton,  he  found,  if  evil  had  been  done,  it  was  irre 
trievable,  as  the  doctor  declared  no  disposition  of  his  prop 
erty  made  by  Mr.  Moray  now  could  be  regarded  as  valid,  and 
that  it  was  therefore  worse  than  useless  to  disturb  his  mind 
by  a  reference  to  the  subject.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  "  before 
this  last  attack,  his  reason  was  unimpaired,  and  any  will  he 
made  then  was  probably  free  from  the  influence  of  any  mis 
conception  whatever." 


TWO   PICTURES.  187 

With  this,  Hugh  was  compelled  to  be  satisfied. 

During  all  this  lime  Mrs.  Moray  had  scarcely  shown 
herself  in  Mr.  Moray's  presence  ;  there  was,  indeed,  such 
actual  fear  expressed  in  her  countenance  and  manner  when 
on  a  few  rare  occasions  she  had  been  forced  to  enter  it,  that 
even  Augusta  pitied  and  excused  her.  Charlie  never  failed 
to  make  his  morning,  noonday,  and  evening  visit.  His 
bright  face  and  pleasant  voice  were  always  welcome  to  Mr. 
Moray,  yet  he  never  expressed  any  desire  for  his  longer 
stay,  or  wished  for  him  when  absent.  Evening  after  even 
ing,  mother  and  son  continued  to  show  themselves  in  the 
gay  saloons  of  Washington,  strange  contrasts  to  the  silent 
watchers  in  the  dimly  lighted  room  where  a  shadow  deeper 
and  more  enduring  than  that  thrown  from  the  dusky  wings 
of  Night  was  hovering.  Sometimes  they  met  Mr.  Saville  ; 
one  evening  he  accosted  Mrs.  Moray,  who  had  just  entered, 
and  was  leaning  still  on  her  son's  arm,  with  "  I  am  glad  to 
see  you  out  of  that  dreary  house ;  and  how  is  my  friend, 
Mr.  Moray,  getting  on  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  there  is  much  change  ;  it  is  very  sad  ; 
I  am  really  obliged  to  come  out  of  an  evening,  that  I  may 
keep  up  my  spirits,  for  poor  Augusta's  sake." 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  Charlie,  who  had  no  mock  senti 
ment  about  him,  "  that  neither  my  mother  nor  I  are  of  the 
slightest  use  to  poor  Mr.  Moray,  while  he  can  have  Augusta 
and  Hugh,  and  so  we  may  as  well  enjoy  ourselves  while  we 
can." 

"True,"  replied  Mr.  Saville  ;  "  and  so,"  he  added,  turn 
ing  to  Mrs.  Moray  again,  "  Mr.  Hugh  is  very  devoted  in  his 
attentions  to  poor  Mr.  Moray  ?  " 

"  Very  devoted,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Moray. 

The  words  were  all  very  well,  but  Charlie  thought -the 
tone  not  sufficiently  emphatic,  and  rejoined,  "  Entirely  so  ; 
Mr.  Moray  can  hardly  breathe  without  Hugh.  I  do  not 


1SS  TWO   PICTURES. 

know  another  young  man  who  would  confine  himself  so.  I 
hope  he  will  be  rewarded  for  it  as  he  deserves." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  with  a  glance  at  Mrs. 
Moray,  from  which  she  turned  somewhat  hastily  away. 
"  By  the  by,  Mr.  Charles,  will  you  ask  your  cousin  what  he 
hears  from  his  father?  the  department  hears  nothing  from 
him,  and  we  begin  to  think  he  is  a  little,  slow  in  his  move 
ments." 

There  were  several  gentlemen  near,  over  whose  faces 
there  passed  a  smile,  not  unobserved  by  Charlie.  His  blood 
fired,  and  resisting  his  mother's  efforts  to  draw  him  on,  he 
said,  in  a  low  but  distinct  tone,  carefully  modulated  to  reach 
the  ears  of  those  who  had  heard  Mr.  Saville,  "  If  I  had  not  a 
lady  on  my  arm,  sir,  I  would  say  that  your  words  are  a 
little  insolent." 

"  Charles  !  my  son  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Moray,  "  you  are 
mad  !  Pray  excuse  him,  Mr.  Saville;  he  does  not  know — " 

"  His  obligations  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  bowing  to 
Mrs.  Moray  with  a  smiling  face,  yet  with  a  gleam  in  his 
eye  which  the  lady  little  liked.  "  Do  not  be  alarmed  ;  I 
have  no  intention  to  quarrel  with  your  son,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  will  not  quarrel  with  me  when  he  knows  that  I 
exerted  all  my  influence  with  the  Secretary  to  obtain  tho 
squadron  for  Commodore  Moray,  and  that  I  must,  therefore, 
feel  especial  interest  in  his  proving  himself  fitted  for  a 
command  which,  now  that  we  arc  at  war  with  Mexico,  is 
decidedly  the  most  responsible  in  the  gift  of  the  depart 
ment." 

"  Those  who  know  Commodore  Moray  will  never  doubt 
his  fitness,  and  if  I  was  a  little  quick,  Mr.  Saville,  put  it 
down  to  his  account,  and  don't  call  him  slow  again  ;  "  and 
with  a  good-natured  laugh,  Charlie  held  out  his  hand,  which 
Mr.  Saville  took. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Moray  found  an  opportunity 
of  saying  a  few  words  to  Mr.  Saville  apart. 


TWO   riCTUKES.  189 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "you  will  not  heed  Charlie's  boyish 
fully  ;  anything  that  touches  his  sense  of  family  honor  is  so 
keenly  felt  by  him." 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  not  at  all  sorry  to  find  him  so  sensi 
tive.  It  will  be  all  the  better  for  me  by  and  by." 

"  Mr.  Saville !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Moray's  bitterest  enemy  might  have  pitied  the 
agony  in  her  pallid  face  and  quivering  lips  as  she  asked  that 
question.  The  dread  future  which  crime  ever  brings,  had 
started  up  before  her,  and  she  shrank  cowering  before  it. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  repeated,  as  Mr.  Saville  looked 
silently  upon  her  with  a  gleam  of  malice  in  his  cold,  hard 
eye.  He  turned  away  and  left  her,  without  an  answer. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Moray  I  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  are 
fainting  ;  pray  lean  on  me — this  room  is  very  close ;  we 
will  get  into  the  air,"  said  a  gentleman  who,  in  passing,  had 
been  struck  by  her  pallor. 

"  My  nerves  have  been  too  much  tried  by  Mr.  Moray's 
illness,"  she  answered,  slowly  and  feebly.  "  I  should  not 
have  made  the  effort  to  come  out  this  evening.  I  will  sit 
here,"  placing  herself  on  a  sofa,  "  till  my  son  comes,  if  you 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  call  him  for  me,  and  say  that  I  am  ill, 
and  would  like  to  return  home." 

Charlie  was  soon  at  her  side,  and  was  too  much  shocked 
by  her  look  of  suffering  to  express  any  reluctance  to  return, 
even  if  he  felt  it. 

Mrs.  Moray  pleaded  illness  for  her  silence  as  they  wrent, 
but  she  was  in  truth  busied  with  the  one  thought,  "  How 
shall  I  free  myself  from  Saville  ?  "  She  almost  persuaded 
herself  that  she  could  bear  the  contempt  and  reproaches  of 
those  whom  she  had  most  deeply  injured,  if  by  so  doing 
she  might  escape  the  malice  of  Saville,  and  disappoint  his 
hopes  of  gain.  When  she  arrived  at  home,  Charlie  would 
have  seen  her  to  her  room,  but  with  an  impatient  gesture 


190  TWO  PICTURES. 

and  tone,  she  bade  him  leave  her,  and  as.  soon  as  he  was  out 
of  sight,  she  went  to  the  study  where  Mr.  Moray,  Augusta, 
and  Hugh  usually  sat.  All  there  was  dark  and  still.  It 
had  been  the  scene  of  her  crime,  and  from  its  corners, 
dimly  lighted  by  the  candle  she  carried,  the  malignant  eyes 
of  Saville  seemed  to  gleam  mockingly  upon  ht-r.  She 
turned  away  with  superstitious  fear,  and  hastened  up  the 
broad  stairs,  feeling  that  Nemesis  was  already  treading  fast 
upon  her  steps.  Up  the  stairs,  through  the  hall,  fleeing, 
though  no  man  pursued,  she  went  straight  to  the  door  open 
ing  into  Mr.  Moray's  room  ;  it  was  slightly  ajar,  and  she 
paused  to  breathe,  and  to  listen  if  any  one  were  moving  there, 
before  she  should  enter.  There  was  no  movement,  but  a 
low,  soft  voice,  was  reading  in  reverent  tones,  and  these 
were  the  words  that  first  fell  on  the  listener's  ear  :  "  Make 
us  ever  mindful  of  the  time  when  we  shall  lie  down  in  the 
dust,  and  grant  us  grace  always  to  live  in  such  a  state  that 
we  may  never  be  afraid  to  die." 

Mrs.  Moray  hurried  away,  feeling  that  a  new  and  deadlier 
fear  had  entered  her  heart,  from  being  brought  into  contact 
with  the  "  powers  of  the  world  to  come."  She  hastened  to 
her  own  room,  and  set  down  her  light  there  ;  but  thoughts 
of  terror  pursued  her  ;  something  seemed  to  whisper  in  her 
ear,  "  Make  us  mindful  of  the  time  when  we  shall  lie  down 
in  the  dust ;"  she  crept  back  in  the  dark,  to  Mr.  Moray's 
door.  The  reading  was  ended,  and  Mr.  Moray  began  to 
speak. 

"  Hugh,"  he  said,  "  I  was  always  thought  a  brave  man, 
but  it  is  one  thing  to  go  forward  in  the  strength  of  man 
hood  to  meet  possible  death,  and  quite  another  thing  to  lie 
here  and  wait  for  his  certain  coming." 

"  Certain  !  What  makes  you  say  that,  dear  uncle  ?  " 
remonstrated  Augusta. 

"  Because   my  mind   is  very  clear   to-night,  Augusta, 


TWO   PICTURES.  191 

clearer,  I  think,  than  it  has  long  been,  and  I  feel  it  is  certain, 
and  want  to  say  something  to  you  while  I  have  the  power. 
Tell  Mr.  Mortimer,  when  you  see  him,  that  I  learned  at 
last  to  love  the  prayers  that  I  listened  to,  at  first,  only  to 
please  you,  and  prevent  your  asking  me  to  see  a  clergy 
man  ;  tell  him  I  am  able  to  forgive,  as  I  hope  to  be  lot- 
given — he  will  understand  you  ;  and  that  he  must  help  you 
and  Hugh  to  do  all  for  my  people,  that  I  failed  to  do.  And 
now,  child,  do  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  For  what,  dear  uncle  ?  Have  you  not  been  the  kind 
est  and  most  generous  of  friends  to  me  ? "  said  Augusta, 
kissing  the  hand  which  she  had  clasped  in  her  own,  and  on 
which  her  tears  were  fast  falling. 

"  Generous  !  "  he  repeated,  "  I  never  gave  you  what  you 
most  wanted,  poor  child  !  but  you  will  not  want  it  now. 
Hugh  will  give  it  to  you  in  full  measure,"  and  turning  to 
Hugh,  with  a  wistful  smile,  he  added,  "  You  must  love  her 
for  me  as  well  as  for  yourself,  Hugh  ;  will  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Moray  held  out  his  hand  to  Hugh,  who  stood  on  the 
opposite  side  from  Augusta,  and  placing  his  own  in  it,  Hugh 
answered,  clearly  and  firmly,  "  I  will,  Mr.  Moray."  Even 
there,  within  the  shadow  of  that  presence,  before  which  pride 
ordinarily  stands  rebuked,  Augusta  lifted  her  head,  and 
something  of  scorn  flashed  from  her  eyes,  wet  as  they  were 
with  tears  of  tender  sorrow,  upon  one  whom  she  believed 
to  be  perjuring  himself. 

"  And  now,  I  have  said  all,  I  believe  ;  good  night.  I 
shall  sleep  to-night,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Moray  heard  steps  approaching  the  door,  and  again 
hurried  to  her  room,  saying  to  herself,  "  I  will  see  what  I 
can  do  to-morrow  ;  to-night  it  is  too  late." 

To-morrow  proved  to  be  too  late,  for  before  its  sun 
arose,  Mr.  Moray  was  beyond  the  reach  of  all  earthly  feel 
ing.  There  are  few  who  do  not  think  sometimes  of  the 
9 


192  TWO   I'lOTUKES. 

irrevocable  character  which  their  own  death  stamps  upon 
their  actions,  but  it  is  doubtful  whether  we  as  often  remem 
ber  that  the  death  of  another  as  surely  precludts  all  change 
in  the  character  of  our  acts  and  feelings  toward  him.  Have 
we  been  unkind  to  a  friend,  ungrateful  to  a  benefactor, 
unjust  to  our  fellow  man  ?  We  may  live  on,  and  our 
hearts  be  wrung  with  remorse  long  after  they  have  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  atonement.  Oh,  the  pangs  of  un 
availing  regret !  Who  that  has  felt  them  finds  too  strong 
the  imagery  of  the  worm  that  never  dies,  and  the  fire  that 
is  never  quenched  ?  "  It  is  too  late  !  "  was  the  thought  that 
impressed  such  haggard  misery  on  Mrs.  Moray's  features  for 
many  days  after  Mr.  Moray's  death.  And  yet  it  was  not 
too  late  to  have  done  justice,  by  her  confession,  to  those  who 
had  been  wronged  ;  but  with  Mr.  Moray  had  died  the  only 
power  that  could  shield  her  from  the  consequences  of  her 
crime,  and  these  she  was  not  sufficiently  sincere  in  her 
penitence,  to  meet  voluntarily.  Mr.  Moray,  she  had  hoped, 
could,  and,  to  protect  his  family  name  from  dishonor,  would 
destroy  the  will  now  in  Mr.  Mellen's  hands,  and  make 
another  without  revealing  the  cause  of  his  doing  so  to  any 
one;  now,  her  confession,  to  be  available,  must  be  known  to 
many.  How  could  she  bear  to  see  her  own  son  turn  from 
her  with  shame  ?  How  could  she  meet  the  world's  scorn  ? 
No  ;  it  was  too  late  ;  things  must  now  take  their  course. 

The  funeral  rite's  were  over ;  the  body  deposited  in  a 
vault  till  it  could  be  carried  to  the  home  which  Mr.  Moray 
had  so  loved,  there  to  be  laid  beside  kindred  dust.  Of  all 
the  long  procession  of  Senators  and  Representatives,  who, 
according  to  that  reverent  custom  observed  ever  toward 
those  whose  death  had  left  a  vacant  place  in  their  country's 
councils,  had  followed  the  remains  of  Mr.  Moray  to  their 
temporary  place  of  rest,  none  but  Mr.  Mellen  returned  with 
the  family  to  the  house  which  had  lately  been  his  home. 


TWO   PICTURES.  193 

Charles  and  Hugh  Moray  were  both  in  the  carriage  with 
him,  and  neither  of  them  was  surprised  to  hear  that  he  had 
in  his  possession  the  last  will  of  Mr.  Moray. 

"  1  think  it  had  better  be  read  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Mel- 
len,  "  and  for  that  purpose  I  put  it  in  my  pocket.  I  read 
and  corrected  the  first  draft,  so  that,  though  1  did  not  write 
this,  I  am  acquainted,  as  I  believe,  with  its  contents.  Mr. 
Saville  wrote  it,  and  as  he  and  your  mother,  Mr.  Charles, 
were  the  only  witnesses,  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  call  for 
him  and  take  him  along  with  us." 

"  I  fear  it  will  be  a  very  agitating  ceremony  to  Miss 
Moray,  and  she  is  still  suffering  so  much  from  the  shock  of 
her  uncle's  death,  that  if  it  could  be  delayed — " 

Hugh  paused,  and  Mr.  Mellen  replied,  "  My  sister-in- 
law,  Miss  Drayton,  is  with  her ;  I  will  get  her  to  speak  to 
Miss  Moray,  and  be  guided  entirely  by  her  wishes ;  in  the 
meantime  it  will  not  be  much  out  of  our  way  to  stop  for 
Mr.  Saville,  and  have  him  on  hand.  It  is  not  necessary, 
but  it  is  as  well  that  he  should  acknowledge  his  signature." 

Mr.  Saville  was  at  home,  and  consented  to  take  the 
vacant  place  in  the  carriage.  As  he  did  so,  he  handed  a 
letter  to  Hugh,  saying,  "  This  letter  from  Commodore 
Moray  arrived  under  cover  to  me  with  a  request  that  I 
would  forward  it  immediately  if  you  had  returned  to  New 
York.  I  thought  I  should  see  you  to-day,  and  so  put  it  in 
my  pocket." 

Hugh  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket,  feeling  that  the 
present  hour  was  sacred  to  other  interests.  Augusta,  over 
powered  by  the  shock  of  her  uncle's  death — sudden  at  last 
— and  by  previous  days  and  nights  of  agitation  and  fatigue, 
had  lain  on  her  couch  almost  ever  since  his  death,  in  the 
stillness  of  exhaustion.  Miss  Drayton  was  the  only  one 
whom  she  had  willingly  admitted,  and  she  had  sat  beside 
her  through  much  of  this  day,  not  conversing,  for  of  this, 


191  TWO   MCTUKES. 

Augusta  seemed  incapable,  but  repeating,  in  a  gentle  voice, 
at  intervals,  some  passages  from  the  Bible,  or  some  of  those 
hymns  in  which  the  truth  and  tenderness  of  the  Bible  have 
been  reproduced,  and  which  touch  the  heart  with  such 
soothing  gentleness  in  the  hour  of  sorrow,  even  where  that 
heart  has  not  learned  to  love  truth  for  the  sake  of  its  Glorious 
Giver.  During  all  this  time  of  sorrow,  Augusta  had  de 
clined  seeing  any  one  but  Miss  Drayton,  and  now,  though 
she  heard  a  knock  at  her  door,  she  lay  with  her  eyes  closed 
as  if  asleep.  Miss  Drayton  obeyed  the  summons,  and 
found  Judge  Mellen  standing  there.  His  errand  was  told 
in  a  whisper.  Miss  Drayton  looked  back  for  a  moment  to 
the  pale,  still  face  upon  the  couch,  and  answered,  "  It  is  im 
possible  ;  she  could  not  bear  it." 

"What  is  impossible,  Miss  Drayton?"  asked  Augusta, 
without  opening  her  eyes  or  making  any  movement  except 
of  the  lips. 

Miss  Drayton  drew  near  and  explained  it  to  her. 

"Is  it  necessary  ?  is  it  not  very  hurried?"  she  inquired. 

"  So  it  seemed  to  me,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  "  but  my 
brother  says  that  all  who  arc  interested  are  now  present, 
that  each  of  them  has  some  reason  for  desiring  to  leave 
Washington  immediately,  and  that  it  may  be  long  before 
they  can  meet  again." 

"Very  well;  I  will  go." 

"  But  have  you  strength  for  it,  dear?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  have  strength  for  anything  that  will 
bring  me  sooner  to  St.  Mary's.  There  I  shall  have  rest." 
Augusta  rose  as  she  spoke,  but  she  became  conscious  as  she 
did  so,  of  greater  weakness  than  she  had  suspected.  Miss 
Drayton  saw  that  she  trembled,. and  passed  her  arm  around 
her  tenderly. 

"  You  love  your  home,"  she  said,  hoping  to  calm  Au 
gusta  by  drawing  her  thoughts  away  from  the  present. 


TWO   PICTURES.  195 

"  Oh,  dearly !  When  I  breathe  its  air  again,  I  shall  feel 
as  if  a  mother's  kisses  were  on  my  brow." 

"  And  you  will  have  a  great  work  to  do  there  ;  so  many 
souls  dependent  on  you  !  " 

"  Will  you  not  come  and  see  me  there,  and  help  good 
Mr.  Mortimer  to  teach  me  how  to  do  my  work  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  the  parlor,  and  Miss 
Dray  ton  could  only  reply  by  pressing  the  white  hand  which 
lay  upon  her  arm.  Augusta's  pale  cheeks  became  slightly 
tinged  with  color  as  the  door  opened,  and  they  entered. 
Hugh  started  forward  to  meet  her,  but  checked  himself,  as 
if  at  some  sudden  memory,  and  suffered  Judge  Mellen  to 
support  her  to  the  chair  which  had  been  placed  for  her  near 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray's.  Had  Augusta  raised  her  eyes,  she 
might  have  been  surprised  at  the  deadly  pallor  of  that 
lady's  face,  and  the  languid  faintness  of  her  usually  quick 
glancing  eyes.  Miss  Drayton,  who,  not  having  seen  her 
before  during  the  day,  shook  hands  with  her,  did  wonder 
at  the  cold,  clammy  touch  of  her  hand. 

"  Miss  Moray,"  said  Judge  Mellen,  as  soon  as  they  were 
all  seated,  "  I  was  sorry  to  disturb  you  for  what  may  seem 
to  you  a  mere  form,  as  our  lamented  friend  made  no  secret 
of  what  had  been  his  disposition  of  his  property  ;  but  as  my 
sister  told  me  it  was  your  wish  to  return  home  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  as  all  our  friends,  indeed,  are  anxious  to  leave 
Washington,  I  thought  if  you  could  make  the  exertion,  it 
would  be  better." 

Augusta  answered  only  by  a  bow,  and  all  having  seated 
themselves,  the  Judge  drew  the  will  from  his  pocket,  and 
proceeded,  very  deliberately,  to  break  the  seals  of  the  en 
velope,  and  withdraw  the  paper  from  it.  As  he  threw  down 
the  envelope,  Mr.  Saville  raised  it  and  examined  the  seal. 

"  Do  you  use  this  ?  "  he  said  to  Charlie,  who,  somewhat 
shocked  at  the  levity  in  calling  attention,  at  such  a  time, 


196  TWO   PICTURES. 

to  anything  extraneous,  answered,  shortly,  "  Mr.  Moray 
did." 

The  seal  had  the  thistle  and  the  "  Nemo  me  impune 
lacessit"  of  the  royal  arms  of  Scotland,  to  which  the  Morays 
claimed  a  right  in  virtue  of  certain  ancient  matrimonial 
alliances.  Had  any  one  been  sufficiently  at  ease  to  make 
observations  on  others,  he  might  have  seen  Mr.  Saville  care 
fully  remove  the  seal  and  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  waist 
coat.  While  the  carelessness  or  indifference  of  his  manner 
was  a  little  overacted,  Mrs.  Moray  had  lost  all  power  over 
herself.  We  have  spoken  of  her  pallor  and  coldness ; 
equally  remarkable  was  the  wild  expression  of  the  eyes 
fastened  on  Judge  Mellen,  as  if  from  his  lips  she  awaited 
the  sentence  of  doom.  All  this  was  unnoticed  by  the 
Judge,  who  commenced  reading  in  the  somewhat  measured 
tones  usual  to  him,  the  sentences  in  which  the  testator  ex 
pressed  his  wishes  respecting  his  removal  to  St.  Mary's, 
and  burial  there  ;  then  followed  a  few  legacies — the  place 
on  which  he  lived,  five  hundred  dollars  per  annum,  and  the 
use  of  his  library,  being  left  to  Mr.  Mortimer  during  his 
life,  as  a  mark  not  only  of  the  esteem  and  friendship  of  the 
testator,  but  of  his  gratitude  for  the  services  he  had  rendered 
to  the  people  on  his  plantation,  in  which  he  hoped  he  would 
hereafter  meet  with  no  obstruction  ;  to  his  friend  and  relative, 
Commodore  Moray,  was  left  five  hundred  dollars  and  a  signet 
ring  with  the  Moray  crest,  which  had  come  from  Scotland 
with  the  first  emigrants  of  the  name,  and  which,  on  Commo 
dore  Moray's  death,  was  to  descend  to  Hugh.  All  this  was 
exactly  as  it  had  been  in  the  will  seen  by  Judge  Mellen, 
and  he  read  it  without  a  change  of  tone.  Then  came  the 

~ 

enumeration  of  certain  shares  in  Bank  stock,  canals  and  rail 
roads,  as  well  as  of  some  thousands  of  ready  money  in  the 
hands  of  his  factor,  all  which  was  hereby  willed  and 
bequeathed  to — Judge  Mellen  made  a  pause — could  it  be 


TWO   PICTURES.  197 

possible? — to  "Mrs.  Charles  Moray,  of  Elizabethtown, 
widow  ; "  the  last  words  were  read  rather  in  a  questioning 
tone,  as  if  the  reader  doubted  the  evidence  of  his  senses, 
and  the  glance  around  the  circle  which  followed,  seemed  to 
ask  if  he  could  be  right.  Receiving  no  answer,  unless  the 
surprise  on  all  faces  except  Mr.  Saville's,  and  a  gasping  sob 
from  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  might  be  considered  an  answer ; 
he  turned  again  to  the  instrument  in  his  hand.  Now  fol 
lowed  the  mention  of  St.  Mary's  ;  its  acres  of  woodland  and 
cleared  fields,  its  houses,  whether  for  dwelling  or  for  plan 
tation  use,  then  the  negroes,  named  by  families  and  enumer 
ated,  then  the  horses,  carriages,  &c.,  nothing  was  omitted, 
and  all  was  Avilled  and  bequeathed  to  Charles  Moray,  son 
of  the  before-mentioned  Mrs.  Charles  Moray.  Never  did 
such  simple  words  excite  such  varied  sensations  as  were 
caused  by  these.  As  they  were  uttered,  Augusta  lifted  her 
eyes  and  fixed  them  on  Charles  Moray's  face,  which  burned 
beneath  her  gaze  as  if  the  brand  of  a  shameful  deed  were 
blistering  there.  She  never  removed  that  gaze  while  Judge 
Mellen  continued  to  read  that  the  testator  had  made  no 
especial  provision  for  his  dear  niece,  Augusta  Moray,  be 
cause  she  would  find  her  home  with  these  dear  friends  at 
St.  Mary's,  which,  he  hoped,  would  eventually  become  her 
own  by  her  marriage  with  Charles  Moray,  which  event 
would  fulfil  his  most  earnest  wish. 

Before  Judge  Mellen  had  finished  reading,  Hugh  Mo 
ray,  obeying  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  had  risen  from  his 
distant  scat,  and  placed  himself  beside  Augusta.  Judge 
Mellen  was  the  first  who  spoke.  Still  holding  the  will  in 
his  hand,  he  said,  with  emphasis,  "  This  is  a  most  extra 
ordinary  document.  Mr.  Saville  will,  I  am  sure,  bear 
witness,  as  well  as  I,  that  it  is  entirely  unlike  the  will  first 
dictated  by  Mr.  Moray.  That,  if  I  am  not  greatly  in  error, 
placed  Miss  Moray  and  Mr.  Hugh  precisely  in  the  positions 


198  TWO   PICTURES. 

occupied  by  Mrs.  Moray  and  her  son — am  I  right,  sir?" 
turning  suddenly  to  Mr.  Saville. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  suppose  a  man  may  alter  his-  will  at  any 
time  during  his  life,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  in  a  tone  of  studied 
carelessness. 

"  A  man  may,  but  does  he  without  some  good  reason  ? 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that,  if  this  will  be  genuine — and 
after  careful  examination  of  the  signatures,  I  see  no  reason 
to  doubt  that  it  is — it  must  have  been  dictated  when  my 
friend's  mind  was  so  much  affected  by  disease  as  to  destroy 
the  validity  of  his  acts.  Indeed,  he  more  than  once,  after 
his  document  was  in  my  possession,  alluded  to  Mr.  Hugh 
Moray  and  his  niece  as  his  successors  at  St.  Mary's.  This 
testimony  I  am  willing  to  give  before  a  court  of  justice,  and 
if  you  will  take  my  advice,  my  dear,"  to  Augusta,  "  you 
will  contest  the  will." 

Before  Augusta  could  reply,  Charles  Moray  exclaimed, 
"  That  you  need  not  do,  Augusta ;  for  1  am  as  well  satisfied 
as  Judge  Mellon  himself,  that  this  will  is  no  expression  of 
your  uncle's  real  wishes,  and  I  here  relinquish  at  once  all 
claim  that  it  gives  me  on  his  property." 

"  Thank  you  1  thank  you,  Charlie  !  for  giving  me  back 
my  old  confidence  in  you ;  as  for  anything  more,  I  cannot 
receive  from  your  bounty,  what  would  have  been  wel 
come  from  my  uncle's  affection.  If  I  have  been  wronged, 
I  commit  my  cause  to  Him  who  is  the  orphan's  friend. 
May  lie  defend  the  right !  " 

Augusta  had  risen  as  she  addressed  Charlie,  and  her 
appeal  to  Heaven  was  made  with  an  earnest  look  and  an 
emphatic  gesture,  which  made  Mrs.  Moray  visibly  shudder, 
and  awakened  a  momentary  terror  even  in  the  heart  of 
Saville.  Shfe  turned  as  if  to  leave  the  room,  and  Hugh 
offered  his  arm  with  a  manner  of  such  graceful  deference  as 
a  princess  might  have  claimed,  and  as  he  had  never  offered 


TWO   PICTURES.  199 

to  Augusta  Moray  before.  She  accepted  the  support  she 
greatly  needed,  but  ere  she  had  made  a  step  forward,  Mrs. 
Moray  laid  her  hand  upon  her  arm  to  detain  her.  Augusta 
shook  it  off  as  if  it  had  been  some  unclean  thing,  and  turned 
to  her  with  flashing  eyes  and  heightened  color. 

Mrs.  Moray's  contrition  had  not  been  sufficiently  deep 
or  sincere  to  make  her  humble.  Its  chief  effect  was  to  add 
intensity  to  her  desire  for  Augusta's  marriage  with  her 
son.  For  the  injury  to  Hugh  she  had  little  compunction. 
"  Hugh  is  doing  so  well  he  does  not  need  it,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  and  he  had  no  more  natural  right  to  it  than 
Charlie."  Were  Augusta  married  to  Charles,  she  believed 
that  conscience  would  cease  its  perpetual  sting,  and  more 
over,  that  Saville's  power  to  intimidate  her  would  be  les 
sened.  All  these  considerations  gave  earnestness  to  her 
manner,  as  she  said,  "  You  will  remember,  Augusta,  that 
St.  Mary's  is  your  home,  and  we  shall  be  ready  to  set  out 
whenever  you  wish." 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,"  replied  Augusta,  "  Your  home 
can  never  be  mine,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  influence  your 
movements." 

Again  she  would  have  passed  on  with  a  haughty  bow, 
but  Mrs.  Moray,  with  increasing,  almost  with  impertinent 
vehemence,  exclaimed,  "  Do  you  intend  to  treat  your  uncle's 
last  wishes  with  contempt  ?  Remember  !  St.  Mary's  will 
be  forever  closed  to  you  if  you  refuse  our  offer  now." 

"  Mamma  !  "  cried  Charles  Moray,  "  you  must  not  say 
that.  Jf  St.  Mary's  is  indeed  to  be  mine,  it  will  ever  be 
Augusta's  rightful  home,  where  I  shall  esteem  her  more  mis 
tress  than  I  am  master,  whenever  she  shall  honor  it  with 
her  presence." 

Charlie's  open,  boyish  face  was  flushed,  half  with  shame, 
at  what  seemed  to  him  his  mother's  strange  rudeness,  half 
with  eagerness  to  mark  his  own  different  feeling.  Augusta 


200  TWO   PICTURES. 

could  not  answer.  Indignation  and  pride  had  lent  her  tem 
porary  strength,  but  it  was  fast  failing.  Hugh  felt  the 
trembling  of  the  hand  that  rested  on  his  arm,  and  putting 
back  Mrs.  Moray,  who  would  still  have  urged  her  point, 
with  a  decided  gesture,  he  led  her  from  the  room.  Scarcely 
had  the  door  closed  behind  them,  when  Augusta  sank  upon 
a  chair  in  the  hall,  faint  and  gasping.  Hugh  felt  that  she 
must  not  be  exposed  to  farther  trial,  and,  disregarding  her 
faint  resistance,  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  up 
the  stairs  to  a  small  room  opening  on  her  own  apartment, 
where  he  laid  her  on  a  couch. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  Avhispered  Augusta,  feebly  ;  "  will  you 
ask  Miss  Dray  ton  to  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  In  one  moment,  dear  Augusta — never  so  dear  as  now 
— only  let  me  say  before  I  go  that  if  not  permitted  to  as 
sert  a  nearer  claim,  I  have  at  least  a  brother's  right  to  cher 
ish  and  to  guard  you." 

lie  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hand  he  held,  then,  alarmed 
by  her  increasing  paleness,  he  hastened  down  stairs  and  sent 
Miss  Dray  ton  to  her.  That  lady  was  the  only  one  he  found 
in  the  room  he  had  just  left.  Judge  Mellen  and  Mr.  Saville 
had  left  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Moray  had  carried  off  Charlie 
to  her  own  room,  to  consult  him,  as  she  said,  on  business, 
but,  in  truth,  to  try  to  reconcile  him  to  the  new  dignities 
which,  she  could  see,  sat  somewhat  uneasily  upon  his  indolent 
but  kind  nature. 

When  Miss  Drayton  had  left  him,  Hugh  continued  long 
to  pace,  with  slow,  measured  steps,  through  the  deserted 
room  which  seemed  to  him,  at  that  moment,  to  bear  the 
aspect  of  death.  Suggested  by  the  contrast,  there  rose  up 
the  vision  of  that  last  gay,  untroubled  evening,  when  Au 
gusta,  radiant  in  beauty,  with  the  flush  of  excitement  on  her 
cheek,  and  a  softened  light  in  her  eyes,  had  stood  just  where 
he  had  seen  her  stand  to-day  in  her  plain,  black  dress,  with 


TWO   PICTURES.  201 

colorless  cheeks,  and  eyes  flashing  with  proud  disdain,  or 
dim  with  clouds  of  sorrow,  yet  not  less  beautiful  to  him, 

That  evening  there  had  been  no  scornful  rejection  in  her 
eye  or  on  her  lip.  If  he  could  have  but  spoken  then — and 
what  had  made  the  difference  now  ?  Was  she  indeed  so 
fickle  that  a  few  weeks  of  absence  had  thus  changed  her  ? 
that  could  not  be.  Had  an  enemy  come  between  them  ? 
that  might  be — and  his  thoughts  immediately  reverted  to 
Mrs.  Charles  Moray.  "  She  never  loved  me,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "and  I  think  she  has  positively  hated  me,  since 
she  has  regarded  me  as  a  possible  rival  to  Charles."  Still 
the  utmost  act  of  enmity  he  thought  of  ascribing  to  her  was 
misrepresentation  of  some  thoughtless  word  or  action  on  his 
part.  He  had  always  thought  her  skilled  in  giving  a  gloss 
to  language  which  the  speaker  little  intended — skilled  in 
interpreting  all  things  so  as  to  advance  her  own  ends,  but 
of  conscious,  wilful  untruth,  of  absolute  fraud,  he  did  not 
suspect  her.  In  regard  to  this  will,  he  believed,  with  Judge 
Mellen,  that  there  had  been  some  unfair  influence  exerted 
over  the  failing  mind  of  Mr.  Moray ;  if  there  had  been 
more,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  many  conversations  in 
which  Mr.  Moray  seemed  to  consider  him  as  his  successor 
at  St.  Mary's,  sometimes  suggested  the  doubt,  he  believed 
that  Saville  was  answerable  for  it.  "  That  man  hates  both 
Augusta  and  me.  I  have  read  it  in  his  eye,  spite  of  all  his 
cunning  ;  he  would  do  us  an  injury  if  he  could.  It  has  been 
no  injury  to  me.  I  should  be  sorry  enough  to  relinquish 
my  career  at  the  bar  for  the  burdensome  responsibilities 
of  a  Southern  planter,  and  as  for  Augusta,  we  cannot  offer 
her  a  splendid  home ;  but  my  father — by  the  by — his  let 
ter,"  and  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  Hugh  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  letter  handed  to  him  by  Mr.  Saville,  and  was 
soon  absorbed  in  its  contents.  They  ran  thus  : 


202  TWO   F1CTUKE8. 

II.  8.  FRIGATE  CONGRESS,     j 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  March  21, 18—.  \ 

I  have  been  trying  to  write  to  your  mother,  Hugh,  but 
find  it  impossible,  and  so  I  write  to  you  that  you  may  tell 
her  what  I  have  no  heart  to  tell  myself.     My  bitterest  ene 
my  could  have  chosen  for  me  nothing  more  humiliating  than 
my  present  position,  a  position  accepted  with  the  hope  that 
I  should  be  able  at  last  to  prove  myself  worthy  of  the  con 
fidence   so   long   withheld    from   me.      If  the   department 
should  continue  its  present  course  toward  me,  I  shall  come 
home  a  dishonored  man,  while  it  may  be  that  some  per 
fumed  pet  of  theirs  will  be  sent  out  to  supersede  me  as  an 
incapable,  and  obtaining  what  I  have  in  vain  petitioned  for, 
will  cast  a  deeper  shadow  on  my  name  by  his  success.    Three 
or  four  vessels,  of  not  over  one  or  two  hundred  tons,  would 
enable  me  to  make  our  naval  power  as  much  dreaded  as  our 
army  has  become  under  the  gallant  Taylor ;  but  here  I  am 
with  ships  of  such  heavy  draught,  that  1  cannot  approach  the 
coast  near  enough  to  throw  a  ball  on  shore;  and  yet  all  my 
remonstrances  and  appeals  are  met  only  by  expressions  of 
surprise  that  with  such  a  gallant  force  at  my  command,  I 
should  have  done  so  little.     I  am  tempted  to  believe  that 
my  letters  have  not  all  reached  the  Secretary's  eyes.     From 
what   I   know  of  the  ways  of   the  department,  I  know  it 
would  not  be  at  all  impossible  for  this  to  be  managed  by  a 
clerk  who  had  a  grudge  against  me,  and,  God— forgive  me  if 
I  wrong  him,— I  have  no  trust  in  Saville.     I  believe  he  suf 
fered  me  to  obtain  this  squadron  because  he  hoped  by  it  to 
ingratiate  himself  with  my  rich  relative,  Mr.  Moray,  and 
now  that  he,  poor  fellow,  is  too  ill  for  him  to  hope  for  much 
future  service  from  him,  I  should  not  Avonder  if  he  were  in 
triguing    to  give   it   to   some  other.      As   you   wrote  last 
from  Washington,  and  seemed  uncertain  when  you  should 
leave   it,   I    hope  this  letter  may  find   you    there.     If   it 


TWO   PICTURES.  203 

should  do  so,  go  at  once  to  the  navy  department,  see  the 
Secretary  himself,  and  tell  him  what  I  have  here  written 
you.  Tell  him  I  know  the  harbor  of  Vera  Cruz  thoroughly, 
and  that  with  three  or  four  vessels  of  light  draught  1  will 
engage  to  land  men  enough  to  make  themselves  masters  of 
the  city,  and  of  the  whole  country  indeed  ;  but  without  such 
vessels  it  is  simply  impossible — it  would  be  throwing  awa^i 
the  poor  fellows'  Jives  to  send  them  in  open  boats,  when  1 
could  not  bring  a  cannon  near  enough  to  protect  them. 
Make  some  inquiries  where  Commodore  Puffer  is ;  I  have 
had  a  hint  from  an  old  friend  in  the  service  that  he  has  been 
a  good  deal  in  Washington  of  late.  He  is  the  only  man  in 
the  service,  I  think,  who  would  supersede  me  without  reluc 
tance;  not  that  I  think  him  bad-hearted  or  dishonorable,  but 
he  has  such  an  opinion  of  his  own  powers,  that  I  honestly 
believe  he  considers  it  an  act  of  injustice  to  the  country  that 
any  important  service  should  be  committed  to  another. 
Exert  yourself,  my  son,  to  save  your  father  from  this  last 
and  worst  humiliation — the  last,  I  say,  for  certain  I  am  that 
I  should  never  outlive  it.  Send  this  letter  to  your  mother, 
and  tell  her  that  though  I  do  not  write  to  her  by  this  oppor 
tunity,  my  best  comfort  is  the  memory  of  her  love  and  her 
prayers.  Love  to  your  sisters.  Your  affectionate  father, 

JAMES  MORAY. 

Hugh  looked  at  the  date  of  the  letter.  "  This  ought  to 
have  been  here  a  week  ago,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  an  hour  to 
lose  ;  but  first  I  must  see  Augusta." 

He  went  quickly  up  the  stairs  and  to  the  room,  where 
he  had  left  her.  The  door  was  closed,  but  his  light  tap 
brought  Miss  Drayton  to  it ;  she  came  into  the  hall  to 
Hugh,  closing  the  door  after  her.  Without  waiting  to  be 
questioned,  she  said  :  "  She  has  been  terribly  agitated  ;  it 
could  scarcely  be  otherwise ;  but  her  greatest  dread  seems 


204  TWO    PICTURES. 

to  bo  that  any  one  should  see  her  in  that  state.     I  have 
promised  that  no  one  but  myself  shall  enter  this  room." 

"  I  must  not  ask  you  to  break  your  promise,  and  yet  I 
know  not  how  to  leave  the  house  without  seeing  her." 

"  Leave  the  house  !  You  are  not  going  away  !  "  ex 
claimed  Miss  Dray  ton. 

"  No  farther  than  to  the  navy  department  on  important 
business  for  my  father." 

"  Oh  !  you  will  return  here,  then  ?  I  feared  you  were 
talking  of  leaving  Washington." 

"  1  hope,  when  I  do  that,  it  will  be  to  take  Miss  Moray 
with  me  to  Elizubethtown,  where  my  mother  and  sisters 
are — they  love  her  dearly,  and  would  be  grieved,  indeed,  if 
she  should  choose  any  other  home.  Has  she  spoken  at  all 
to  you  about  the  future,  Miss  Drayton  ?  " 

"  Not  very  coherently  ;  one  thought,  only,  seems  in  con 
nection  with  it,  that  she  must  make  herself  independent  by 
the  exercise  of  her  own  powers.  She  has  been  much  calmed 
by  my  promise  to  find  work  for  her." 

"  Work  !  I  must  see  her,  Miss  Drayton,"  and  Hugh 
looked  resolved. 

"  You  will  not,  without  her  permission,  Mr.  Moray  ; 
to-day,  especially,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  remaining  quite  still, 
though  Hugh  had  stepped  toward  the  room,  and  even  put 
his  hand  upon  the  latch. 

Her  confidence  was  not  misplaced  ;  Hugh  withdrew  his 
hand,  and  stepped  back  again. 

"  You  are  right,  Miss  Drayton,"  he  said,  "it  must  not  be 
without  her  permission  ;  and  yet  I  must  see  her.  Tell  her, 
dear  Miss  Drayton,  that  I  have  an  important  commission 
from  my  father,  which  requires  my  immediate  attention  ; 
but  that  I  cannot  and  will  not  leave  the  house  till  I  have 
seen  her.  Will  you  do  this,  dear  Miss  Drayton  ?  " 

Miss  Drayton  could  not  refuse,  and  soon  re-opened  the 
door  to  tell  Hugh  that  he  might  enter. 


TWO    PICTURES. 

The  incidents  of  his  life,  the  training  even  of  his  boy- 
Hood,  had  given  Hugh  Moray  a  power  over  himself,  pos* 
sessed  by  few  men.  Even  now  he  was  calm  in  appearance, 
self-possessed  in  manner,  though  his  heart  throbbed  and  his' 
pulses  beat  as  they  had  not  done  when  he  first  rose  to 
address  a  court,  notwithstanding  that  was  under  circum 
stances  which  induced  the  belief  that  his  success  or  fail 
ure  in  that  first  effort  would  influence  his  whole  future 
career.  He  had  now  a  cause  to  plead  requiring  more  deli 
cate  tact  than  any  he  had  yet  approached,  and  the  verdict 
he  should  obtain  would  affect  the  well-being  of  one  dear 
to  him  as  his  own  soul.  The  events  of  this  day  could  not 
make  Augusta  more  dear  to  him,  but  they  had  so  touched 
the  springs  of  his  tenderest  feeling,  that  he  would  have 
guarded  her  with  his  very  life  from  the  lightest  touch  of 
pain.  This  feeling  grew  acute  almost  to  agony  as  he  en 
tered  the  room  in  which  she  was,  and,  taking  in  with  a  quick 
glance,  its  luxurious  and  tasteful  arrangements,  he  contrasted 
them  by  a  lightning  flash  of  thought  with  the  home  likely 
to  be  that  of  a  woman  who  should  make  herself  independent 
by  her  own  work.  Yet  Hugh  was  very  calm — if  any  com 
plaint  could  have  been  alleged  against  his  manner,  it  was 
perhaps  the  complaint  of  an  excess  of  quietude.  Augusta 
sat  on  the  couch  where  he  had  left  her.  A  crimson  spot  on 
each  cheek  served  only  to  make  the  surrounding  whiteness 
more  distinct,  while  her  eyes  glowed  with  excitement.  Over 
her,  too,  the  thought  of  the  injustice  done  to  Hugh,  had 
exercised  some  softening  influence.  She  would  now  have 
risen  to  meet  him,  but  he  stepped  quickly  toward  her  couch, 
and  taking  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him,  gently  reseated 
her,  and  placed  himself  in  a  chair  at  her  side.  Retaining 
her  hand,  he  said,  "  I  wanted  to  see  you  before  I  went  out, 
that  I  might  know  when  you  would  be  ready  to  set  out  for 
Elizabethtown.  Do  you  think  you  could  go  to-morrow  ?  " 


206  TWO    PICTURES. 

Hugh,  it  will  be  acknowledged,  was  adroit.  The  place 
was  only  touched  in  his  question,  and  touched  as  an  ascer 
tained  fact,  the  time  was  dwelt  on  as  the  great  point  at  issue. 
In  ordinary  states  of  feeling  such  a  taking-for-granted  by 
one  whose  opinion  she  values,  has  a  wonderful  effect  on  a 
woman  ;  but  to-day  Augusta  Moray  was  in  no  ordinary 
state  of  feeling.  All  in  which  she  had  most  trusted  had 
deceived  her.  The  very  pillars  of  her  life  had  been  shaken, 
and  she  stood  among  the  crumbling  ruins  of  the  past  with 
proud  self-assertion,  saying  to  herself,  "  They  shall  not  crush 
me.  I  will  build  to  myself  a  new  world,  and  though  it  have 
in  it  no  beauty  and  no  joy,  it  shall  suffice."  Ah  !  how  dif 
ferent  would  it  have  been,  could  she  have  seen  that  it  was 
the  hand  of  love  which  held  the  bitter  chalice  to  her  lips,— 
that  the  selfishness  of  man  was  but  working  out  the  loving 
designs  of  Him  who  "  chasteneth  those  whom  He  loves,  even 
as  a  father  chasteneth  his  children." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Hugh ;  but  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
go  to  Elizabethtown,"  she  replied  to  Hugh's  question. 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  at  another  time,  when  you  are 
more  composed  ;  at  present  we  will  only  settle  the  time  of 
our  journey  ;  you  must  be  impatient  to  get  away  from  this 
house,"  Hugh  began,  with  a  smile ;  but  his  face  grew  grave 
before  he  concluded. 

"  I  am  more  impatient  to  be  understood  by  you,  Hugh. 
\  ou  must  not  put  me  off  as  if  I  was  a  feeble  child,  incapable 
of  deciding  for  myself.  I  have  no  guide  left ;  I  must  mark 
out  my  own  path." 

"  Dear  Augusta  !  If  Mr.  Mortimer  were  here  I  think 
he  would  remind  you  of  the  Psalmist's  petition,  'My 
Father,  be  Thou  the  guide  of  my  youth  ; '  and  of  his  assur 
ance,  '  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord,  and  He  will  direct 
thy  steps.' " 

"  He  guides  and  directs  us,  not  by  sending  an  angel  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  207 

clear  our  way  before  us,  but  by  giving  us  the  power  and  the 
will  to  act  for  ourselves." 

"  Or  by  sending  friends  to  act  for  us." 

"  He  has  left  me  none  on  whom  I  have  a  natural  claim. 
I  could  not  be  happy  in  dependence  on  others.  The  best 
thing  that  those  who  wish  me  well  can  do  for  me,  is  to  help 
me  in  finding  something  to  do  for  myself." 

Hugh  thought  of  the  loving,  trustful  child,  who  had  said, 
"  Hugh,  I  will  live  with  you  anywhere,"  looked  up  in  the 
proud  face  beside  him,  and  with  a  pang  at  his  heart, 
which  he  could  not  wholly  control,  rose  and  walked  to  a 
window,  that  he  might  betray  to  no  other  eye  what  he  suf 
fered.  When  he  returned  and  again  seated  himself  at 
Augusta's  side,  his  face  had  regained  its  composure.  Yet 
there  was  a  change  in  its  expression — there  was  less  tender 
ness  there  and  more  sternness. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said,  "  at  least,  no  one  living 
has  the  right  to  constrain  your  freedom  of  action.  I  will 
only  say  that  you  may  command  my  services  in  any  way 
you  please,  and  until  you  have  found  your  work  and  are 
ready  to  begin  it,  you  will  not,  I  hope,  refuse  to  make  your 
home  with  my  mother  and  sisters  at  Elizabethtown.  You 
can  have  no  cause  of  displeasure  with  them,  Augusta,"'  he 
added,  as  he  saw  her  hesitate,  "  and  no  one  whom  you  do 
not  wish  to  see,  will  intrude  on  you  there." 

The  color  flushed  to  her  face  at  his  last  words  ;  but 
before  she  could  reply,  Hugh  rose,  and  hording  out  his  hand 
to  her,  said,  "  I  must  not  weary  you  now.  You  may  trust 
my  advice — it  is  as  disinterested  as  a  brother's ;  at  least,  you 
may  trust  the  affection  of  my  mother  and  sisters.  But  I 
will  say  no  more  now,  for  you  look  weary ;  good  afternoon." 

One  lingering  pressure  of  her  hand,  one  questioning  look 
from  the  door,  as  if  he  hoped  yet  to  read  some  softening  in 
her  glance,  and  Hugh  was  gone. 


208  TWO   PICTURES. 

Months  passed  ere  they  met  again. 

When  Miss  Dray  ton  returned  to  Augusta  she  found  her 
weeping  with  an  uncontrollable  violence,  which  was  the 
result  of  the  almost  superhuman  restraint  imposed  on  her 
by  her  proud  determination  to  show  that  she  needed  not 
even  sympathy  from  those  around  her.  Reproach  of  Hugh 
was  mingling  with  these  tears,  for,  with  the  inconsistency  of 
which  most  are  guilty  where  the  passions  are  excited,  she 
accused  him  of  coldness  and  hardness,  because  he  had  care 
fully  guarded  himself  from  the  expression  of  any  warmer 
sentiment  than  friendship,  completely  ignoring  that  she  had 
more  than  once,  of  late,  manifested  her  disdain  of  profes. 
sions  of  deeper  interest  from  him. 

"  He  need  not  have  been  so  careful  to  assure  me  of  his 
disinterestedness — to  make  me  feel  that  I  could  give  nothing 
in  return  for  all  this  ostentatious  kindness." 

Such  were  her  thoughts.  Yet  when  Miss  Drayton,  after 
letting  her  weep  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  drew  her  at 
last  within  the  shelter  of  her  arms,  and  with  soft  caresses 
said,  "  My  poor  child !  has  he  wounded  you  too  ?  1 
thought  his  truth,  at  least,  might  be  trusted,"  she  lifted  her 
head  proudly,  and  answered,  "  You  know  little  of  Hugh 
Moray  if  my  tears  can  make  you  doubt  him.  Since  I  can 
not  relinquish  my  plans  for  my  own  support,  he  urges  me 
to  go  to  Elizabethtown  and  remain  with  his  mother  and 
sisters  till  I  am  ready  to  begin  my  work." 

"And  trusting  him  as  you  do,  you  will  go,  of  course?" 
said  Miss  Drayton. 

Augusta  had  unconsciously  set  a  trap  for  herself.  If 
she  would  have  Miss  Drayton  trust  Hugh,  she  must  show 
that  she  herself  trusted  him,  and  she  assented,  though  the 
assent  was  faint,  and  with  the  addition,  "  Unless  you  should 
hear  of  some  place  for  me  immediately." 

"  That  is  not  very  probable ;  there  are  places  enough, 


TWO    PICTURES.  209 

but  few  such  places  as  I  could  conscientiously  recommend 
you  to.  To  know  how  to  recognize  the  claims  of  a  lady  in 
the  position  of  a  governess,  the  employer  must  be  a  lady 
herself." 

"  And  are  there  so  few  ladies  ?  "  asked  Augusta,  little 
disposed  to  submit  to  unnecessary  delay. 

"  Very  few,  I  fear,  in  my  acceptation  of  the  term ; 
though  there  are  a  thousand  counterfeits  which,  in  the  ordi 
nary  exchanges  of  society,  will  pass  current  without  detec 
tion." 

"  I  must  not  hope,  then,  for  one  of  those  few,  but  be 
satisfied  if  I  find  nothing  worse  than  the  common  lot." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see ;  in  the  meantime,  I  am  truly  glad 
that  you  have  such  a  friend.  Have  you  appointed  any  time 
for  your  journey  ?  " 

"  No ;  if  I  must  go,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  at  once. 
Hugh's  business  must  require  his  presence  in  New  York ; 
he  has  been  here  more  than  a  month ;  but  if  I  could  hear 
of  something  first — "  She  paused. 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right  not  to  wait  for  it ;  Mr. 
Moray  must,  as  you  say,  have  already  sacrificed  much ;  and 
I  shall  be  as  busy  for  you  after  you  have  gone  as  if  you 
were  here." 

Speech  is  a  gift  of  Him  whose  every  gift  is  good. 
Thought  becomes  clear,  passion  submissive  to  reason  while 
we  exercise  it,  provided  passion  have  not  so  acquired  the 
sway  of  our  whole  natures  that  speech  has  itself  become  its 
slave.  These  conversations,  though  not  all  that  Hugh  Mo 
ray  or  Miss  Drayton  could  have  wished,  left  Augusta  more 
composed  in  mind  than  she  had  yet  been.  The  future 
seemed  less  a  tangled,  pathless  forest  than  it  had  been.  Un 
consciously,  perhaps,  she  derived  comfort  from  the  thought 
that,  for  a  time,  at  least,  she  would  be  within  Hugh's  home, 
the  object  of  his  friendly  care.  The  next  morning  she  woke 


210  TWO   PICTURES. 

after  a  night  of  deep  and  almost  untroubled  sleep.  Her 
first  thought  was,  of  course,  of  her  bereavement  and  of  the 
altered  circumstances  of  her  life.  It  is  that  first  waking 
thought  which  brings  to  our  hearts  the  keenest  pang  of  sor 
row.  That  pang  sent  Augusta's  thought  not  to  a  heavenly, 
but  to  an  earthly  comforter.  Hugh  would  come  this  morn 
ing  to  know  her  decision.  She  must  rise,  for  much  was  to 
be  done  to-day,  if  she  were  to  be  ready  to  set  out  with  him 
to-morrow.  Prompt  as  the  thought  came  the  action ;  she 
arose  and  breakfasted  alone  in  the  little  music  room  that 
opened  into  her  own  apartment.  Soon  after  her  breakfast, 
as  she  was  still  there,  giving  some  orders  to  her  maid 
respecting  the  arrangements  for  her  packing,  a  knock  was 
heard  at  her  chamber  door. 

"  Say  that  I  am  here,  Alice,"  she  said  to  the  Irish  wait 
ing  maid,  who  turned  to  attend  the  summons. 

"  It's  Gib.  ma'am,"  said  the  girl,  opening  the  door  of  the 
music  room. 

"  Yes,  Miss  'Gusty,  it's  me,  ma'am ;  Master  Charles 
sent  me,  ma'am,  to  see  how  you  is,  and  to  ax  to  speak  to 
you." 

"  Master  Charles  1  "  Augusta  repeated.  "  You  are  sure 
it  was  he  who  wanted  to  speak  to  me  1 " 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am  !  Sure  for  true.  It  couldn't  be  nobody 
else,  now  poor  Master  Hugh 's  gone." 

Gib  spoke  with  emphasis.  He  had  seen  a  little,  and 
suspected  more,  of  what  had  been  passing  in  the  house  for 
the  last  four  weeks,  and  it  was  his  own  private  opinion  that 
Master  Hugh  had  been  badly  treated  on  all  hands,  and  he 
strongly  suspected  that  "  Miss  'Gusty  "  had  now  put  the  fin 
ishing  touch  to  the  injustice  he  had  suffered,  by  sending  him 
away. 

"Master  Hugh  gone ! "  repeated  Augusta,  with  a  half 
bewildered  expression. 


TWO   PICTURES.  211 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  gone,"  repeated  Gib,  and  this  time  with  a 
little  fierceness  in  his  tone.  He  had  expressed  his  pity  for 
Master  Hugh ;  the  next  thing  was  to  show  his  readiness 
to  do  battle  with  all  his  enemies. 

"  When  did  he  go,  Gib  ?  "  Augusta's  voice  trembled 
slightly  in  spite  of  her  efforts.  Gib  began  to  be  appeased. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I  don't  rightly  know  when  he's  left 
Washington  ;  howsomedever,  he  isn't  been  home  to  my 
knowledge  sence  yesterday  one  o'clock  ;  I  know  it  was  one, 
because  I  heard  the  big  clock  strike  just  as  Master  Hugh 
went  out  the  door,  and  I  was  looking  after  him  and  saying 
to  myself,  Well !  who'd  ha'  thought  that  Master  Charlie 
would  be  our  master,  instead  o'  Master  Hugh;  that 
Master — " 

"  And  has  not  Master  Hugh  been  back  since  that  time  1 " 
asked  Augusta,  interrupting  the  flow  of  Gib's  eloquence. 

"  No,  ma'am ;  leastways  I  ha'n't  seen  him  ;  and  he 
hasn't  been  in  his  room  all  night." 

"  And  have  you  heard  nothing  of  him,  Gib  ?  " 

"  I  only  hearn  the  man  that  came  for  his  valise  and  cloak 
say  he  was  a-going  away  with  some  gentlemen  from  the 
hotel." 

Augusta  sank  back  upon  the  couch  by  which  she  was 
standing.  Now  she  felt  how  she  had  rested  on  that  strong 
arm  and  faithful,  courageous  heart.  Pride  might  still  rule 
her  words ;  it  might  press  back  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and 
close  her  lips  against  the  moan  that  rose  to  them,  but  it 
could  not  scare  away  the  agony  from  her  wistful  eyes,  nor 
renerve  her  shaking  frame.  Gib's  emotions  changed  their 
direction. 

"  I  think  it's  very  strange  in  Master  Hugh  to  go  off  so ; 
and  may  be  he's  a  coming  back." 

"  Yes,  that  was  surely  it ;  he  was  coming  back,"  and  a 
little  color  returned  to  Augusta's  pale  cheeks. 


212  TWO   PICTURES. 

"And  Muster  Charles.  What  must  I  tell  him,  Miss* 
Augusta  ?  " 

"  Say  that  I  will  see  him  here,  Gib." 

She  spoke  with  alacrity,  fur  she  thought  that  Charles 
must  have  some  communication  from  Hugh ;  it  might 
Le  that  he  was  coming  to  bring  her  some  message  from 
him. 

"  You  will  go  on  with  the  packing,"  she  said  to  Alice  ; 
"  I  shall  probably  leave  this  place  to-morrow." 

The  girl  returned  to  the  chamber,  as  Charles  Moray 
entered  at  the  door  of  the  music  room. 

"  You  still  look  pale,  Augusta,"  he  said,  after  the  usual 
salutations  and  inquiries  had  passed  ;  "  I  must  see  a  little 
more  color  in  your  cheeks  before  1  can  ask  you  to  set  out 
for  St.  Mary's." 

What  a  pang  that  name  on  his  lips  cost  Augusta  he 
little  knew  !  She  could  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  Charlie 
continued:  "  When  we  do  go,  would  you  prefer  to  go  by 
land,  or  Avatcr  ?  If  you  are  not  strong  enough  for  the  land 
journey — " 

"  I  am  not  strong  enough  for  cither,  Charlie." 

Augusta's  tone  was  kind,  even  affectionate — far  more  so 
than  it  had  been  to  Hugh. 

"  Not  now,  but  you  will  be  soon,  and  we  will  wait  till 
you  are." 

"  I  shall  never  be  strong  enough  to  be  at  St.  Mary's  as 
a  visitor." 

"  Not  as  a  visitor ;  I  would  not  have  you  feel  as  a  vis 
itor,  let  it  be  your  home  as  it  has  always  been." 

"That  cannot  be,  Charlie.  If  I  was  not  my  uncle's 
child,  I  was,  at  least,  his  nearest  living  relative,  and  was 
taught  from  my  infancy  to  feel  that  I  had  the  claims  of  a 
child  in  his  house." 

"  And  you  would  say  that  you  are  nothing  to  me  ;  but, 


TWO   PICTURES.  213 

Augusta,  I  have  no  sister,  and  I  have  always  envied  Hugh 
his  sisters.  Come  with  me  and  be  my  sister." 

Augusta  remembered  Mrs.  Moray,  and  the  color  flushed 
her  face  and  the  proud  light  came  again  to  her  eye,  as  she 
said,  "  Such  ties  are  of  Nature's  making  ;  I  am  not  your 
sister,  and  cannot  fancy  myself  so." 

"  Augusta,"  Charlie  began,  and  paused,  rose  from  his 
chair  and  looked  out  of  a  window,  reseated  himself,  and 
again  said,  "  Augusta,  there  is  a  tie  we  make  for  ourselves ; 
will  you  be  my  wife  ?  you  know  your  uncle  wished  it." 

"  No,  Charlie ;  I  could  not  be  your  wife,  even  if  my 
uncle  had  wished  it." 

"And  do  you  doubt  that  he  did,  Augusta?"  and  Char 
lie's  face  grew  hot. 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  for  I  feel  quite  sure  that  he  never 
did." 

"  Why,  then,  should  he  have  said  it  in  his  will  ?  "  Char 
lie  spoke  rapidly,  as  one  who  was  becoming  roused  by  the 
doubt  insinuated. 

"  The  will  said  it,  certainly." 

Augusta's  emphasis  was  significant ;  there  was  a  festering 
doubt  in  Charles  Moray's  own  mind,  and  this  emphasis  was 
like  a  touch  upon  "  the  raw  "  to  a  mettled  horse.  He  sprang 
from  his  chair. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  more  just,  if  you  have  any  belief 
that  the  will  is  a  forgery,  to  say  so  at  once,  and  let  the  case 
be  decided  by  law  ;  do  you  suspect  me  of  fraud  ?  " 

"  I  suspect  you  of  nothing  dishonorable  ;  but  sit  down, 
Charlie,  and  let  us  talk  of  other  things  ;  I  cannot  afford  to 
quarrel  with  the  few  friends  I  have  left,  and  I  should  be 
sorry  not  to  count  you  as  one  of  them." 

"  I  am  glad  you  will  permit  me  to  be  anything  to  you," 
said  Charlie,  reseating  himself,  though  with  a  shade  of  irri- 
tation  still,  both  in  tone  and  manner. 


TWO   PICTURES. 

"  That  I  regard  you  as  a  friend,  I  am  going  to  prove,  by 
asking  a  favor  of  you,"  said  Augusta,  trying  to  smile. 

Charlie  was  easily  propitiated,  and  assured  her  that  she 
could  not  gratify  him  more  than  to  show  him  how  he  could 
be  useful  to  her. 

"  It  is  only,  Charlie,  by  fulfilling  what  I  know  to  have 
been  my  uncle's  desire  about  his  people.  To  Hugh  and  me, 
who  were  with  him  constantly  during  those  last  few  weeks, 
he  expressed  it  very  often,  and  I  promised  him  to  use  all 
my  influence  to  secure  for  them  the  kind  treatment  and  care 
of  their  future  master." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  suspect  me  of  cruelty,  Augusta  ?  " 
Charlie  questioned,  still  a  little  angrily. 

"  1  believe  no  man  ever  was  more  incapable  of  cruelty, 
Charlie ;  but  my  uncle  was  not  cruel ;  he  was  considered,  I 
believe,  not  only  a  humane,  but  a  kind  and  generous  master, 
and  yet  he  was  not  satisfied  with  himself;  indeed,  he  seemed 
often  troubled  by  the  feeling  that  he  had  not  done  all  he 
should  have  done." 

"  That  must  have  been  nothing  but  a  sick  man's  fancy, 
Augusta ;  for  I  am  sure  no  set  of  laborers  I  have  ever  known 
were  so  happy  as  your  uncle's  negroes.  They  were  com 
fortably  lodged,  well  fed,  not  overworked,  and  free  from  all 
anxieties  for  the  future.  I  am  sure  I  have  thought  of  them 
with  envy  sometimes,  when  I  have  incurred  a  heavy  debt, 
without  having  a  red  cent  to  pay  it  with.  Depend  upon  it, 
all  that  was  a  sick  man's  fancy." 

"  I  don't  know  that  that  is  at  all  against  it,  Charlie  ; 
I  am  afraid  none  of  us  think  as  we  should  do  about  these 
things  till  we  are  sick  and  feel  ourselves  drawing  near  to 
the  eternal  world  ;  I  seemed  to  be  brought  near  to  it  my 
self  when  I  talked  with  him  toward  the  last,  and  I  must 
relieve  my  conscience  of  my  responsibility  in  the  matter,  by 
telling  you  that  my  uncle  felt  grieved  at  remembering  that 


TWO   PICTURES.  215 

he  had  sometimes  objected  to  some  of  good  Mr.  Mortimer's 
plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  people,  and  that  he  hoped 
that  whoever  was  at  St.  Mary's  after  him  would  suffer  Mr. 
Mortimer  to  carry  them  all  out ;  and  it  was  this  I  was  going 
to  ask  of  you  as  a  favor  to  myself :  it  will  make  Mr.  Mor 
timer  so  happy." 

"  I  fear  it  will  have  a  tendency  to  make  the  people  very 
unhappy  ;  but,  of  course,  what  you  ask  shall  be  done.  And 
now,  Augusta,  let  us  come  back  to  yourself.  If  you  will 
not  make  your  home  with  us,  you  must  remember  that 
your  uncle  intended  that  your  home  should  be  provided  out 
of  his  property,  so  that,  wherever  it  is,  you  must  draw  on 
me—" 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Charlie,  I  cannot  place  myself 
under  pecuniary  obligation  to  any  one." 

"  Pecuniary  obligation  it  would  not  be — " 

"  I  should  feel  it  as  such ;  and,  once  and  for  ever,  let  me 
say  that  if  you  would  have  me  regard  you  as  a  friend,  you 
will  never  make  such  a  proposition  to  me  again." 

"  And  how  are  you  going  to  live,  Augusta?  With  all 
your  finespun  fancies,  you  are  human,  and  must  eat,  drink, 
and  be  clothed." 

Charles  Moray  spoke  warmly. 

"  It  is  true  I  am  human  ;  but  with  human  wants  I  have 
also  human  powers,  and  can  work  for  what  I  need." 

"  Work  !  Are  you  going  to  put  up  a  card, '  Washing, 
and  going  out  to  day's  work,  done  here '  ?  " 

There  was  a  sneer  in  the  tone  of  the  question. 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Augusta,  while  her 
eyes  flashed.  "  I  am  only  going  to  seek,  through  Miss 

Drayton  and  my  old  teacher  Madam  B ,  a  place  as  a 

governess." 

"  A  governess  !  I  advise  you  to  change  your  plan  and 
take  my  proposal — it  will  be  decidedly  the  easier  life ;  but, 
10 


216  TWO   PICTURES. 

in  the  mean  time,  till  this  delectable  governess-ship  is  found, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  1  Will  you  remain  here  ?  " 

"  Till  to-morrow  morning,  with  your  permission,"  said 
Augusta,  haughtily. 

"  And  may  I  venture,  without  offence,  to  ask  where  you 
may  be  going  then  ;  as  I  understand,  this  '  place  '  is  yet  to 
seek." 

"  I  might  well  refuse  to  answer  such  questions  ,  but  I 
have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  shall  return  with  Hugh  to  Eliz- 
abethtown,  and  remain  with  his  mother  till  I  find  employ 
ment." 

"  With  Hugh  ?  is  not  Hugh  gone  ?  "  asked  Charlie. 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  so  ?  "  Augusta's  heart  sank 
again  with  a  sickening  dread,  and  her  cheeks  grew  pale. 

"  I  did  not  suppose  anything  about  it.  Gib  told  me  he 
was  gone ;  but,  of  course,  that  is  a  mistake,  if  you  were 
going  with  him.  There  is  the  door  bell  now  ;  perhaps  it  is 
he ;  "  and  Charlie  hurried  from  the  room,  glad,  it  must  be 
owned,  of  an  excuse  for  escaping  from  Augusta's  presence, 
for  Charles  Moray  was  of  too  pleasure-loving  a  nature  will 
ingly  to  endure  what  gave  force  to  a  painful  thought ;  and 
at  the  sight  of  Augusta,  all  his  mother's  glosses  vanished, 
and  he  could  only  feel  that  she  had  been  deeply  injured,  and 
that  he,  more  than  any  other,  had  profited  by  the  injury. 
This  thought,  which  should  have  made  him  peculiarly  gentle 
with  her,  did  truly,  from  some  of  those  strange  vagaries  to 
which  this  poor,  frail  nature  of  ours  is  subject,  make  him 
irritable  and  impatient.  It  was  not  Hugh  who  rang,  but 
Charlie  did  not  return  to  say  so.  A  new  idea  had  seized 
him.  He  would  go  and  see  Judge  Mellon  and  Miss  Drny- 
ton.  Augusta  seemed  to  regard  them  as  friends ;  they 
might,  perhaps,  induce  her  to  give  up  her  unreasonable  pride 
and  accept  a  decent  annuity  from  her  uncle's  large  fortune. 
And  so  Charles  Moray  sauntered  out,  and,  finding  Miss 


TWO    PICTURES.  217 

Dray  ton  just  preparing  to  visit  Augusta,  prevailed  on  her 
to  stay  and  listen  to  him,  and  even  to  promise  that  she 
would  advocate  his  cause  with  Augusta  herself,  though  she 
acknowledged  she  had  little  hope  of  success.  As  to  Judge 
Mellen,  he  declared  it  was  the  least  Mr.  Charles  Moray  could 
do,  and  it  would  be  folly,  it  would  be  madness  in  Miss 
Moray  to  decline  it. 

While  this  was  passing  at  Judge  Mellen's,  life  was  not 
standing  still  with  Augusta.  Charlie  had  left  her  but  a  few 
minutes  when  a  card  was  brought  to  her  from  Mr.  Seton, 
the  midshipman  whom  she  had  first  met  at  Saratoga,  and 
who  had  continued  his  acquaintance  by  occasional  calls  in 
Washington.  His  present  call  seemed  to  Augusta  some 
what  intrusive,  as  he  must  have  heard  of  her  uncle's  recent 
death. 

"  Say  to  Mr.  Seton  that  Miss  Moray  is  indisposed  and 
receives  no  visitors,"  was  her  careless  order  to  the  servant 
who  had  brought  the  card. 

"  I  did  tell  him  the  ladies  were  not  at  home  to-day ;  but 
he  is  the  most  obstinatest  young  man,  and  didn't  mind  me  at 
all,"  said  the  man  in  a  grumbling  tone,  as  he  turned  away. 

Half  an  hour  later  there  was  a  light  step  in  the  hall,  fol 
lowed  by  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  music  room.  Augusta 
opened  the  door  herself,  believing  it  to  be  Miss  Dray  ton. 
It  was  Mrs.  Charles  Moray.  What  an  intensity  does  crime 
give  to  the  emotions  of  the-  most  frivolous  and  shallow 
being !  Here  was  a  woman  that  had  lived  all  her  life  with 
no  higher  motive  than  her  pleasure,  no  deeper  stirring  of  her 
heart  than  a  child  experiences  to  the  giver  of  a  toy  ;  she  had 
been  led  by  a  stronger  spirit  into  crime,  and  the  lowest 
abysses  of  her  nature  had  been  stirred,  and  fear  and  hate 
and  cruelty  had  started  forth  :  whatever  she  might  be  hence 
forth,  she  could  not  be  frivolous.  Something  of  this  change 
was  already  marked  in  her  face,  as  she  stood  there  gazing 


218  TWO   PICTURES. 

for  one  moment  silently  upon  Augusta.  Augusta,  too, 
was  silent,  and  returned  her  gaze  with  a  look  of  haughty 
questioning. 

"  1  have  not  intruded  on  you  for  my  own  pleasure,  I  assure 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Moray,  answering  that  look  as  if  its  sense 
had  been  put  into  spoken  words.  "  Mr.  Seton,  whom  you 
refused  to  see  this  morning,  requested  me  to  give  you  that, 
and  to  say  that  Hugh  gave  it  to  him  for  you,  just  as  he  was 
going  off  yesterday  evening  to  join  his  father  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  Mr.  Seton  wished  me  to  say  that  he  did  not  seal 
the  envelope,  because  Hugh  thought  the  receiving  it  so, 
would  show  you  the  hurry  he  was  in,  and  you  would  under 
stand  then  why  he  did  not  return  to  make  any  explanation 
to  you." 

Augusta  had  had  time  to  recover  herself  sufficiently  to 
ask  with  tolerable  composure,  "  Is  Commodore  Moray  ill  ?  " 

"  No.  I  suspect,  from  what  Mr.  Seton  says,  that  he  has 
been  showing  his  incapacity,  as  I  always  thought  he  would, 
and  there  is  some  danger  of  his  being  superseded.  I  sup 
pose  Hugh  has  gone  to  give  him  some  help  in  commanding 
his  squadron.  I  have  no  doubt  he  thinks  himself  quite 
equal  to  it." 

The  sneer  drew  no  answer  from  Augusta,  and  she  might 
have  appeared  quite  calm,  but  for  the  slight  trembling  of 
the  hand  in  which  she  held  the  unsealed  missive  from  Hugh, 
and  for  a  bright  red  spot  that  burned  on  each  cheek. 

"  I  will  see  Mr.  Seton,"  she  said,  with  sudden  determina 
tion. 

"  You  are  rather  late  for  that,  I  suspect.  Mr.  Seton  sails 
himself  for  the  Gulf  at  two  o'clock  to-day.  He  said  he  must 
be  on  board  his  ship  immediately  ;  his  ship  is  the  schooner 
'  Porpoise,'  and  if  you  have  anything  to  send  to  Hugh,  and 
will  get  it  on  board  that  vessel  to  him  within  the  next  two 


TWO    riCTUKES.  219 

hours,  he  will  take  it  with  pleasure :  he  will  probably  see 
Hugh  within  a  fortnight." 

"  I  will  read  my  note,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  madam, 
and  send  him  my  answer,  if  1  find  that  it  requires  one." 

"  To  which  pleasant  employment  1  will  leave  you.  Good 
morning  !  " 

To  the  last  the  sneer  was  in  her  tone ;  but  Augusta 
thought  little  of  it  as  she  closed  the  door  after  her  and  sat 
down  to  learn  what  could  have  taken  Hugh  Moray  from  her 
side  at  such  an  hour,  when  he  had  just  promised  to  guard 
and  cherish  her  as  a  tender  brother.  She  opened  the  envel 
ope  and  drew  forth  its  contents — a  narrow  slip  of  paper  ;  it 
was  printed.  What  could  it  mean  ?  The  burning  flush  rose 
to  her  temples  as  she  read  a  check  for  one  hundred  dollars, 
drawn  in  her  favor  by  Hugh  Moray  on  the  State  Bank  of 
New  York.  She  looked  again  into  the  envelope,  hoping  there 
might  be  some  word  to  explain  this.  No — not  a  word. 

"  lie  might  have  spared  me  this,"  said  Augusta  to  her 
self.  It  was  not  her  own  humiliation  that  occasioned  her 
keenest  pang,  even  when  she  remembered  that  the  open 
envelope  had  probably  made  those  through  whose  hands  it 
had  passed  as  well  aware  as  herself  of  its  contents.  It  was 
the  vanishing  away  of  her  ideal ;  it  was  the  conviction  that 
all  noble  delicacy,  all  true  generosity  must  be  absent  from 
the  mind  of  one  capable  of  such  an  act.  The  Hugh  Moray 
she  had  loved  and  trusted,  was  as  much  a  creature  of  the 
imagination  as  was  Hamlet  or  Othello.  Here  was  the 
sharpest  thrust,  the  cruel  thrust  which  killed  at  once  both 
hope  and  memory.  But  this  was  no  time  for  thought ; 
neither,  as  she  said  proudly  to  herself,  was  she  a  love-sick 
girl,  to  waste  her  life  in  vain  regrets. 

"  Call  Gib  to  me,  Alice,"  she  said,  as  she  roused  herself  to 
action.  While  Alice  was  gone,  she  selected  an  envelope 
from  her  desk,  enclosed  the  check,  carefully  sealed  and 


220  TWO   PICTURES. 

addressed  it.  By  the  time  she  had  done  this,  Gib  was 
waiting. 

"  Gib,  I  want  this  note  for  Master  Hugh  taken  to  Mr. 
Soton,  who  is  on  board  the  schooner  '  Porpoise,'  lying  at  the 
Navy  Yard.  lie  is  to  sail  in  two  hours,  so  you  had  better 
call  a  hack  and  drive  to  the  Navy  Yard,  for  it  is  very  im 
portant  you  should  be  there  in  time ;  and,  Gib,  you  must 
give  the  letter  into  Mr.  Seton's  hands  yourself,  and  you  had 
better  tell  him  that  it  contains  money,  and  that  I  will  be 
obliged  to  him  to  hand  it  himself  to  Master  Hugh." 

She  emptied  her  purse  on  the  table,  that  Gib  might  take 
the  money  necessary  for  his  drive;  and  then  turned  to  pack 
ing  her  trunks  with  an  assiduity  which  would  speedily  have 
accomplished  the  labor,  had  she  not  been  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Miss  Dray  ton. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  busy  packing,  I  see ;  what  time  do  you 
intend  to  set  out  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning,"  and  Augusta  busied  herself  with 
finding  a  comfortable  seat  for  Miss  Drayton,  aud  assisting 
her  to  take  off  her  shawrl  and  bonnet. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  can  go  so  soon,"  said  Miss  Drayton, 
as  she  kissed  the  flushed  cheek  bending  down  to  untie  her 
bonnet.  "  I  was  afraid,  from  what  Mr.  Charles  said,  that 
something  had  called  his  cousin  off,  and  you  might  be  de 
tained." 

"  Hugh  has  been  called  away,"  said  Augusta,  in  a  low 
tone,  turning,  as  she  spoke,  to  lay  aside  Miss  Drayton's 
wrappings. 

"  Where  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Drayton. 

"  To  his  father,  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  He  went  out  to 
him  in  a  ship  which  sailed  last  evening." 

"  You  saw  him  before  he  went  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  he  sent  Mr.  Seton  to  let  me  know  all  about  it." 

"  And  to  make  arrangements  for  your  going,  I  suppose. 


TWO   PICTURES.  221 

How  grieved  he  must  have  been  to  leave  you  so  ! .  Is  Mr. 
Seton  to  go  with  you  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  is  ordered  away,  and  sails  this  afternoon." 

"  How  unfortunate  !     And  who  goes  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Nobody.  Governesses,  you  know,"  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  may  travel  without  protection." 

"  But  pretty  young  girls  may  not.  Mr.  Charles  will  go 
with  you,  I  do  not  doubt,  when  he  hears  that  Mr.  Hugh 
cannot ;  if  he  did  not  go,  I  am  sure  my  brother  would  not 
suffer  you  to  go  alone ;  one  of  them  will  see  you  safe  to 
Elizabethtown.  I  could  not  answer  it  to  my  own  con 
science, -to  say  nothing  of  Mr.  Hugh,  if  I  should  part  from 
you  without  knowing  that  you  would  have  proper  escort  to 
his  mother's  care." 

Miss  Drayton  was  surprised  at  the  still,  determined 
face  that  rnct  her,  as  she  looked  up,  at  the  end  of  this  little 
speech. 

"  Miss  Drayton,"  said  Augusta,  "  you  have  been  so  kind, 
so  good — I  shall  be  sorry  to  seem  ungrateful ;  but  I  must 
have  my  own  way  in  this — I  must  go  alone  ;  it  is  a  proper 
beginning  to  my  independent  life.  I  do  not  ask  this  as  a 
favor,  I  insist  on  it  as  a  right,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw 
Miss  Drayton  prepare  to  remonstrate. 

"  Of  course,  no  one  can  dispute  your  right  to  direct  your 
own  actions,  my  dear,"  Miss  Drayton  replied,  in  a  manner 
which,  though  still  kind,  was  marked  by  more  than  her 
usual  gravity. 

Augusta  turned  away  with  more  sullcnness  in  her  man 
ner  than  any  one  had  ever  seen  there  before ;  for,  though 
quick  in  temper,  she  had  never  been  sullen. 

"  It  is  but  the  loss  of  one  friend  the  more,"  she  said  iff 
herself;  "  well — let  them  go." 

But  she  was  less  stoical  than  she  fancied  herself.  As 
she  raised  her  eyes  after  a  while  to  Miss  Drayton's  face,  the 


222  TWO   PICTURES. 

gravity  there  seemed  to  her  more  like  sorrow  than  anger. 
She  could  not  bear  it ;  and  drawing  near,  she  said  r  "  Dear, 
good  Miss  Draytcn  !  my  last  friend  !  forgive  me  for  those 
unkind  words  !  I  am  sorry  to  do  anything  you  disapprove, 
and  I  feel  all  your  generous  kindness  in  my  very  heart  of 
hearts." 

"  My  dear !  do  not  talk  of  my  kindness  ;  I  would  gladly 
do  something  for  you,  if  1  could,  for  I  love  you  tenderly, 
Augusta,  arid  so  does  my  poor  Annie  too,  whom  I  loft 
weeping  at  home,  because  I  would  not  let  her  come  to  you 
to-day  ; "  and  Miss  Drayton,  with  an  affectionate  caress, 
drew  Augusta  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  adding,  "  I  have 
better  matters  to  talk  of  than  my  kindness :  I  have  a  pro 
posal  to  make  to  you,  that  may  alter  all  your  plans." 

Then  and  there,  Miss  Drayton  fulfilled  her  promise  to 
Charles  Moray,  enforcing,  with  all  her  feminine  ingenuity 
and  all  the  energy  of  her  affection,  his  proposition  respecting 
the  annuity  ;  but  ingenious  reasons  and  affectionate  entrea 
ties  were  all  in  vain.  Augusta  was  firm,  though  the  fire  in 
her  heart  did  not  again  show  itself  in  any  ungentle  word  or 
action.  She  entreated  Miss  Drayton  to  be  her  friend,  and 
to  believe  that  she  knew  what  was  best  for  her  own  happi 
ness  in  choosing  as  she  did. 

"  I  have  heard  Mr.  Mortimer  say  that  work  was  the 
best  cure  for  unhappiness — let  me  try  it.*' 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  may  not  obtain  the  work,  and  what 
will  you  do  then  ?  Would  you  rather  be  dependent  on 
Mrs.  Commodore  Moray,  who,  from  what  I  know  of  our 
naval  officers'  families,  is  not  likely  to  be  very  rich,  than 
take  that  which  is  equitably,  if  not  legally  j'our  own." 

"  I  shall  not  be  dependent  on  Mrs.  Moray,"  said  Augus 
ta,  with  lowered  voice,  while  her  eyes  fell. 

"  Ah  1  I  see.     Her  son  will  take  you  off  her  hands,"  and 


TWO   EICTUKES.  223 

Miss  Drayton  looked  at  the  down-cast  face  with  a  benevo 
lent  smile. 

The  smile  died  away  before  the  flashing  glance  that  re 
plied  to  it,  as  Augusta  said,  "  I  shall  not  even  go  to  Mrs. 
Moray's  or  to  Elizabethtown  at  all.  I  shall  go  to  Mrs. 
Brenton,  in  New  York.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  consider 
my  services  in  her  school  to  be  a  sufficient  compensation  for 
my  board,  till  I  can  get  some  better  place." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  may  be  right — I  would  not  dis 
courage  you  for  the  world  ;  but  you  know  we  ought  always 
to  be  prepared  for  possible  failure  in  our  plans  ;  it  is  possi 
ble,  you  know,  that  Mrs.  Brenton  may  have  no  place  for 
you.  Now  will  you  let  me  be  your  Aunt  Nancy,  and  do  for 
you  just  what  I  would  for  my  name-child  Annie,"  and  Miss 
Drayton  drew  out  the  purse  which  she  had  filled  this  morn, 
ing  for  just  such  a  possible  occasion. 

"  Oh,  dear  Miss  Drayton  !  indeed — indeed — "  Augusta 
began  vehemently,  laying  her  hand,  as  she  spoke,  upon  that 
in  which  the  purse  was  held. 

"  My  dear,  listen  to  me ;  the  obligation  would  be  mine 
— it  would  relieve  me  from  so  much  painful  apprehen 
sion — " 

"  But,  indeed,  there  is  no  cause  for  apprehension  ;  be 
sides  I  am  not  quite  penniless,  and  if  I  could  only  part  with 
some  jewelry,  which  is  entirely  useless  to  me  with  my 
present  prospects,  I  should  be  rich." 

"  Let  me  see  the  jewelry." 

Augusta  unlocked  her  jewel  casket  with  a  little  key, 
suspended  to  her  watch  chain,  and  showed  two  morocco 
cases.  Touching  the  spring  of  each  in  turn,  the  lids  flew 
back,  and  displayed  in  the  one  a  necklace,  earrings,  and  pin, 
of  very  large  and  beautiful  pearls — in  the  other,  earrings, 
pin,  and  ring,  of  diamonds  of  unusual  size  and  purity. 

Miss  Drayton  raised  the  case  containing  the  pearls,  and 


224:  TWO   FIQTUKES. 

said,  "  I  should  like  to  take  these  for  Annie,  if  they  are  not 
beyond  my  purse.  Do  you  happen  to  know  what  they  cost, 
my  dear?" 

"I  do ;  for  my  uncle  took  me  with  him  to  make  the 
selection  in  New  York — they  were  three  hundred  dollars ; 
but  they  have  been  worn  two  or  three  times —  " 

"  Which  only  adds  to  their  value ;  if  you  really  wish  to 
part  with  them,  I  will  gladly  become  their  purchaser  at  that 
price." 

And  so  Miss  Drayton  was  comforted  by  knowing  that 
Augusta  would  not  be  without  the  means  of  supporting  her 
self  for  a  few  weeks  at  least,  should  Mrs.  Brenton  be  unable 
to  receive  her.  A  small  sum  was  also  brought  to  her  by 
Charles,  as  remaining  in  the  Washington  Bank,  in  which 
Mr.  Moray  had  deposited  his  money,  after  all  claims 
against  him  had  been  satisfied.  As  this  had  not  been  named 
in  the  will,  it  of  course  belonged  to  her  as  nearest  of  kin. 
This  paid  the  milliner  and  dressmaker  for  the  simple 
mourning,  which  Miss  Drayton  had  procured  for  her,  and 
furnished  her  with  travelling  expenses,  leaving  her  three 
hundred  dollars  untouched  for  future  contingencies. 

With  all  the  alleviation  thus  given  to  their  anxiety,  her 
friends,  Judge  Mellen  and  his  daughter,  and  Miss  Drayton, 
who  drove  to  the  depot  to  say  farewell  to  her,  felt  their 
hearts  sink  with  a  weight  of  pity  as  they  saw  her  stand  in 
the  yet  gray  light  of  the  early  morning,  with  her  black 
drapery  falling  gloomily  around  her,  while  the  faithful  Gib 
was  attending  to  the  safety  of  her  baggage.  They  could  not 
forget  how  lately  crowds  had  been  officious  to  proffer  their 
services  to  her  who  was  abandoned  thus  to  the  care  of 
a  menial.  Those  externals,  which  so  deepened  the  sad 
ness  of  the  picture  to  them,  were,  however,  scarcely  felt  by 
her.  Deeper  sorrows  had  made  her  insensible  to  them. 
They  found  in  her  none  of  that  girlish  shrinking  from  her 


TWO   PICTURES. 

lonely  travel  for  which  they  were  prepared.  Indeed,  when 
Judge  Mellen  would  have  introduced  her  to  a  lady  and  gen 
tleman,  who  were  going  in  the  cars,  and  with  whom  he  was 
slightly  acquainted,  she  declined  the  introduction  with  a 
decision  that  did  not  permit  him  to  press  it 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Charles  Moray  1 "  asked  Judge  Mellen. 

"In  his  bed,  asleep,  I  suspect,"  answered  Augusta, 
smiling. 

"  He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,"  and  the  florid 
face  of  the  kind-hearted  judge  flushed  a  deeper  red. 

"  Pray,  do  not  blame  poor  Charlie !  He  meant  to  come 
with  me,  but  he  did  not  wake  in  time." 

Her  friends  Annie  and  Miss  Drayton  wept,  and  even 
Judge  Mellen's  eyes  were  not  free  from  the  mist  of  sorrow, 
as  the  cars  moved  off,  and  the  crape  veil  was  thrown  back 
for  a  moment  from  Augusta's  pale,  mournful  face,  that  she 
might  look  her  last  upon  them  ;  but  her  eyes  were  tear 
less.  Be  thankful,  ye  who  weep,  that  severer  grief  has  not 
frozen  the  fountain  of  your  tears. 

We  will  not  detain  the  reader  by  details  of  a  journey 
without  adventure.  Mrs.  Brenton  received  her  former 
pupil  with  kindness,  and  sooner  than  her  friends  could  have 
hoped,  procured  her  a  situation  as  governess  in  the  family 
of  Mr.  Price,  a  very  wealthy  banker,  whose  house  on  the 
Fifth  Avenue,  was  one  of  the  show-houses  of  New  York, 
while  Mrs.  Price  was  acknowledged  by  all  to  have  the 
handsomest  carriage,  the  most  beautiful  horses,  and  the 
richest  livery  ever  seen  in  Broadway.  Mrs.  Price  had  been 
herself  a  pupil  of  Mrs.  Brenton's,  but  had  left  her  school 
some  years  before  Augusta's  appearance  there.  Her  old 
respect  for  her  teacher  exercised  still  a  restraining  power  on 
the  lady  of  fashion,  and  she  did  not  bloom  out  in  her  pres 
ence  into  that  overpowering  ostentation,  which  she  dis 
played  elsewhere. 


226  TWO  PICTURES. 

"  You  will  not  forget  that  Miss  Moray  is  a  lady,"  said 
Mrs.  Brenton. 

«  Oh  !  certainly  not.  It  is  really  very  important  to  get 
one  who  will  not  teach  the  children  vulgarities — why,  do 
you  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brenton,  that  1  positively  saw  my 
last  governess  turn  out  her  egg  into  a  glass ;  I  really  saw 
her  do  it  with  my  own  eyes.  Now,  really,  you  know,  all 
the  Latin  and  mathematics  in  the  world  would  never  repay 
one  for  having  children  taught  such  absolute  neglect  of  the 
rules  of  polite  society." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brenton,  with  a  good- 
natured  laugh,  "  since  you  are  no  longer  my  pupil,  I  do  not 
mind  confessing  to  you  that  I  rather  enjoy  taking  my  own 
egg  from  a  glass — but  do  not  be  alarmed  ;  Miss  Moray  is, 
I  am  sure,  quite  free  from  such  solecisms." 

And  Mrs.  Price  soon  made  it  known  to  all  her  acquain 
tances  that  she  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  for  her 
governess  Miss  Moray,  Avho  had  been  .the  belle  of  Washing 
ton  all  last  winter.  "  Not  that  I  think  her  so  very  beauti 
ful — at  least  that  style  of  beauty  is  not  my  favorite  style," 
the  lady  added  ;  at  which  one  could  scarcely  be  surprised,  as 
Augusta  was  tall,  with  dark  hair,  and  eyes  whose  brown 
seemed  to  deepen  into  black  when  shadowed  by  excited 
feeling,  while  Mrs.  Price  was  a  pure  blonde,  "  fat,  fair,  and 
forty."  Sometimes  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Price  felt  some 
curiosity  to  see  the  "  belle  of  Washington,"  and  a  message 
was  sent  by  the  accommodating  hostess  requesting  Miss 
Moray  to  come  down  and  play  a  little  for  the  young  people 
to  dance.  Doubtless  among  the  guests  on  these  occasions 
there  were  some  who  pitied  the  young  and  beautiful  stran 
ger,  at  whom  the  impertinent  levelled  their  glasses,  and  the 
cold  and  selfish  carelessly  glanced ;  but  to  pity  and  to  imper 
tinence  alike,  Augusta  Moray  opposed  the  shield  of  a  manner 
as  cold  and  as  impassive  as  if  she  had  been  indeed  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  227 

marble  statue  she  resembled  in  the  delicate  chiselling  of  hei 
features  and  the  colorless  purity  of  her  complexion. 

Ou  the  whole,  there  was  no  want  of  material  comfort  in 
Augusta's  position.  Mrs.  Price  was  not  a  cruel  or  unkind 
woman.  Vanity  and  selfishness  were  the  deepest  shadows 
in  her  not  very  marked  character.  Augusta's  room  was  in 
the  fourth  story  ;  but  it  was  large  and  airy,  lighted  by  gas, 
nnd  its  cold  tempered  in  winter  by  the  warm  air  from  the 
furnace  which,  do  what  they  would,  could  not  be  kept  from 
ascending  beyond  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  family,  while 
her  table,  at  which  her  pupils, — two  young  girls,  the  one  ten, 
the  other  twelve  years  old, — ate,  was  supplied  with  good, 
healthy  food,  if  not  with  luxuries.  One  complaint  often 
made  by  persons  in  her  position,  could  not  be  made  by 
Augusta.  Those  who  served  her  were  never  negligent  or 
insolent.  With  an  intuition,  which  we  often  see  in  a  greater 
degree  in  that  class  than  in  any  other,  they  recognized  her 
as  a  "  real  lady"  a  term  which  means  a  great  deal  with 
them,  and  they  did  willing  service  to  one  who,  even  in  her 
poverty,  had  not  lost  the  open  hand  or  liberal  heart,  and 
who,  however  haughty  to  her  equals,  or  to  those  who  con 
sidered  themselves  her  superiors,  was  always  gentle  to  her 
inferiors. 

While  thus  fortunate  in  externals,  Augusta's  heart  and 
mind  lived  only  in  the  past.  She  performed  her  duty  faith 
fully  to  the  children  entrusted  to  her,  but  with  no  affection 
ate  interest  in  them.  Their  improvement  was  of  less 
moment  to  her  than  was  the  proud  consciousness  that  she 
had  paid  for  all  she  received.  Could  she  have  forgotten 
herself,  could  she  have  loved  her  work  and  those  for  whom 
it  was  done,  how  different  would  have  been  her  life  !  Love 
is  the  spirit  of  Heaven  ;  pride,  of  Hell.  She  lived  only  in 
the  past,  we  have  said,  but  even  from  that,  pride  drew  not 
nutriment,  but  poison.  Her  former  life  seemed  completely 


228  TWO   PICTURES. 

dissevered  from  her  present.  She  heard  nothing  from  St. 
Mary's,  nothing  from  Hugh.  Miss  Drayton  was  the  only 
one  of  those  she  had  formerly  known,  from  whom  she  occa 
sionally  received  a  letter.  It  was  at  this  period  of  her  life 
that  the  autobiography,  with  which  we  commenced  our  little 
history,  was  begun,  and  the  picture  to  which  it  alludes,  was 
painted.  The  other  picture,  of  St.  Mary's  under  a  stormy 
sky,  was  also  painted  then.  And  here  we  leave  her,  while 
we  follow  the  steps  of  one,  in  whom  we  hope  our  readers 
feel  some  little  interest. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"Mine  honor  ia  my  life  ;  both  grow  in  one, 
Take  honor  from  me,  and  my  life  is  done." — SHAKSPEAKH 

WHEN  Hugh  Moray  parted  from  Augusta,  he  supposed 
it  to  be  only  for  an  hour  or  two.  He  was  going  to  the  navy 
department,  to  see  the  Secretary  himself.  In  his  honor  he 
perfectly  confided.  He  would  show  him  his  father's  letter ; 
if  there  had  been  any  treachery  practised,  this  would  un 
mask  it ;  the  Secretary  would  see  the  reasonableness  of  his 
father's  request,  and  the  wisdom  of  his  plans,  and  so  all 
would  be  arranged.  "  L'homme  propose,  et  Dieu  dispose." 
The  Secretary's  office  was  closed  at  the  navy  department. 
He  was  at  a  cabinet  -meeting.  Some  naval  officers  were 
waiting  to  see  him — some  with  anxious  faces,  which  strove 
in  vain  to  look  careless,  others  with  faces  stamped  by  the 
recklessness  of  dissipation,  who  strove  in  vain  to  look 
thoughtful.  Among  the  younger  men  was  Mr.  Seton,  to 
whom  Hugh  bowed,  having  occasionally  met  him  at  Mr. 
Moray's. 

"  Can  I  see  the  Secretary  ?  "  asked  Hugh  of  an  official, 
presenting  his  card,  and  adding,  "  I  am  the  son  of  Commo 
dore  Moray." 

"  The  Secretary  is  not  here,  sir  ;  but  Mr.  Saville  is." 

"  When  will  the  Secretary  be  here  ?  ' 


230  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  sir ;  he  is  at  a  cabinet  meeting." 

Hugh  turned  away,  and  was  leaving  the  department, 
when  he  was  joined  by  Mr.  Scton,  who  said,  "  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Moray  ;  I  could  not  venture  to  call  so 
soon  after  Mr.  Moray's  death,  and  yet,  as  I  sail  for  the  Gulf 
to-morrow,  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  would  be  glad  to  take 
anything  you  might  have  to  send  to  the  Commodore." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Seton." 

The  gentlemen  walked  silently  on  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  Hugh  said,  "  May  I  ask  in  what  ship  you  are  going  1 " 

"  In  the  '  Porpoise,'  a  little  schooner  of  about  two  hun 
dred  tons — just  the  thing  for  the  Gulf  service." 

"  I  am  glad  they  are  waking  up  to  that  fact  at  the  depart 
ment  ;  my  father  says  he  cannot  do  anything  without  some 
vessels  of  light  draught." 

Mr.  Seton  made  no  comment. 

"  I  believe  you  have  served  with  my  father,  Mr.  Seton," 
said  Hugh. 

"  I  have,  Mr.  Moray  ;  and  every  man  who  has  done  so, 
I  believe,  loves  him — certainly,  every  careless  youngster, 
over  whom  he  has  exercised  the  influence  he  did  on  me, 
must  do  so.  You  must  lay  it  to  that  love,  if  I  ask  what 
may  seem  to  you  an  impertinent  question  :  Do  you  know — 
do  you  think  the  Commodore  knows  that  Commodore  Puffer 
is  to  be  sent  out  to  the  Gulf?  It  is  not  positively  said  that 
Commodore  Moray  is  to  be  recalled,  but  that  is  the  conclu 
sion  ;  as  every  one  who  knows  Commodore  Puffer  knows  he 
would  not  accept  the  position  of  second  in  command,  and  he 
is  the  junior  of  Commodore  Moray." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  this,  Mr.  Seton  ? "' 

"  /  know  that  Commodore  Puffer  lies  in  Hampton 
Roads  waiting  for  his  orders,  which  will  be  carried  to  him 
by  the  Porpoise  to-roorrow  ;  /  know  that  the  Porpoise  is  to 
go  out  in  company  with  the  Flint,  which  carries  the  Com- 


TWO   PICTURES.  231 

modore  himself;  I  know  that  both  these  vessels  are  to  carry 
out  soldiers ;  and,  without  looking  into  the  Commodore's 
sealed  orders,  /  know  we  are  going  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ; 
/  know,  too,  that  the  schooner  Dolphin,  the  fastest  sailer  in 
the  navy,  leaves  the  navy  yard  within  an  hour,  and  carries 
despatches  to  Commodore  Moray.  What  these  despatches 
contain,  I  do  not  know,  of  course ;  "but  the  belief  is  that 
they  will  offer  to  Commodore  Moray  the  option  of  asking 
for  a  recall  or  of  being  superseded  by  his  junior.  You  have 
heard,  of  course,  that  the  troops  have  not  yet  been  landed, 
and  that  the  General  is  becoming  impatient." 

"  1  know  that  it  has  been  impossible  to  land  them  for 
the  want  of  armed  vessels  of  sufficiently  light  draught, — just 
such  vessels  as  you  tell  me  Commodore  Puffer  takes  with 
him,  and  my  father  has  in  vain  applied  for.  Do  you  call 
this  justice,  sir?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Seton,  with  emphasis,  and  with  excite 
ment  equal  to  Hugh's.  "  I  was  sure  there  was  a  cloven  foot 
in  the  business  somewhere,  and  now  I  see  it  was  Saville's. 
I  would  give  my  next  year's  pay,  badly  as  I  want  it,  if 
Commodore  Moray  would  hold  on  in  spite  of  them  till  he 
had  accomplished  the  business,  and  then,  when  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  done,  request  to  be  recalled." 

"  Could  he  do  so  ?  would  it  not  be  regarded  as  disobe 
dience  of  orders  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be,  if  the  despatches  that 
precede  Commodore  Puffer  are  only  to  give  him  the  per 
mission  to  resign ;  he  certainly  may  refuse  that,  without 
any  disobedience ;  and  for  the  rest,  if  he  had  everything 
prepared,  he  might  go  into  action  as  soon  as  the  vessels  he 
wanted  arrived,  and  read  Puffer's  despatches  afterward, 
when  he  had  leisure." 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  have  time  to  write  by  the  Dol 
phin  1  " 


232  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Not  much,"  and  Scton  shook  his  head  ;  "  if  you  could 
go  now — " 

"  Go  I  could,  if  I  felt  sure  that— that— "  Hugh  hesi 
tated  ;  he  feared  to  offend  one  who  certainly  wished  to  serve 
his  father. 

"  Sure  that  my  advice  was  good ;  I  am  but  a  middy  ; 
yet  I  think  all  who  love  your  father  would  give  the  same 
advice.  Come  with  me  to  the  yard  and  consult  Captain 
Rapall.  He  is  one  of  your  father's  warmest  friends,  and  a 
man  of  excellent  judgment." 

"  I  will ;  but  should  he  advise  my  going,  shall  I  have 
time  to  go  back  for  my  trunk  before  I  must  be  on  board  1  " 

"  No  ;  there  will  not  be  ten  minutes  to  spare  now  when 
we  get  to  the  yard  ;  but  stop,  here's  a  darkey  who'll  drive 
there,  get  them,  and  have  them  at  the  yard  as  quickly  as 
you  can  be  there  yourself.  If  you  don't  go,  you  know,  it  is 
only  to  take  them  back.  Holloa,  Hannibal !  " 

Hannibal,  who  was  a  hackney  coachman,  received  his 
order,  drove  to  Mr.  Moray's,  and  executed  it,  as  we  have 
seen. 

The  young  men  walked  rapidly  on.  Hugh  was  thinking 
too  busily  to  speak.  He  was  weighing  the  necessity  there 
was  of  his  presence  here  for  Augusta  and  there  for  his  father ; 
he  was  trying  to  subdue  the  almost  intolerable  pain  which 
the  thought  of  her  imagining  that  he  could  leave  her  at  such 
a  time  for  anything  but  an  absolute  necessity,  caused  him. 

"  If  I  should  go,  Mr.  Seton,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "  will 
you  do  me  a  great  favor  ?  " 

"  Your  father's  son  may  command  me  to  the  extent  of 
my  power."  Mr.  Seton  spoke  earnestly,  for  Hugh's  tone 
was  very  earnest. 

"  After  all,"  said  Hugh,  smiling,  "  it  is  not  quite  a  Her 
culean  task  I  am  going  to  demand  of  you.  The  greatness 
of  the  favor  lies  in  its  importance  to  myself.  If  I  go,  I  must 


TWO   PICTCKES.  233 

send  a  few  lines  to  Miss  Moray,  explaining  my  not  being 
able  to  attend  her  to  my  mother's.  Will  you  see  that  she 
gets  it  ?  I  would  not  like  to  trust  it  to  an  ordinary  mes 
senger." 

"  I  will  deliver  it  myself  before  I  sail  to-morrow,"  Mr. 
Seton  replied. 

"  Into  her  hand  ?  "  urged  Hugh. 

"  Into  her  own  hand,  if  she  will  permit  me." 

They  were  at  the  navy  yard.  Captain  Rapall  was  in  his 
office.  Hugh  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Seton,  and  detailed 
the  information  he  had  received,  and  the  suggestion  that  had 
been  made  by  the  young  midshipman.  Captain  Rapall  read 
Captain  Moray's  letter  through  with  a  grim  smile,  then  lay 
ing  it  down,  he  spoke  :  "  That  is  just  your  father,  sir  ;  hon 
orable,  unsuspecting,  too  keenly  sensitive  for  this  common, 
work-a-day  world.  Such  a  notion  as  Seton's  of  being  too 
busy  to  read  despatches  till  the  action  was  over  would  never 
suggest  itself  to  his  guileless  soul.  lie  ought  to  have  lived 
in  Arcadia.  But  if  you  can  go  and  induce  him  to  do  that 
very  thing,  you  will  save  both  his  life  and  his  honor.  No 
fear  of  his  being  tried  for  disobedience  of  orders.  They 
know  here  that  a  courtmartial  would  bring  out  their  own 
crooked  dealings  ;  besides,  if  he  be  successful,  which  he  is 
sure  to  be,  he  could  afford  to  be  tried ;  they  would  not  dare 
to  touch  him." 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  exclaimed  Hugh. 

"  You  must  be  quick  ;  the  sailing  signal  is  flying,"  said 
the  Captain,  pointing,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  trim  schooner  that 
lay  a  few  yards  from  shore  in  the  Potomac. 

"  1  must  write  a  letter  first,"  exclaimed  Hugh  ;  "  it  is  im 
possible  for  me  to  go  without." 

"Be  quick,  then;  Seton,  run  down  to  the  wharf;  the 
Dolphin's  boat  is  just  pushing  off;  call  them  back — tell 
them  to  hold  on  for  ten  minutes." 


234:  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Shall  I  order  Mr.  Moray's  trunk  on  board,  sir  ? "  asked 
Seton. 

"  Certainly,  if  it  be  here  ;  but  we  can't  wait." 

"  Here  it  is,  sir,"  and  Seton  hurried  off  with  willing  obe 
dience. 

Captain  Rapall  seated  himself  to  write  a  few  lines  of 
introduction  for  Hugh  to  the  commander  of  the  Dolphin, 
while  Hugh  himself  filled  up  the  check  that  Augusta  had  re 
ceived,  and  wrote  the  following  note  : 

DEAR  AUGUSTA  : 

Though  I  know  I  am  doing  what  you  would  not  forgive 
me  for  leaving  undone,  it  is  with  infinite  pain  that  I  leavo 
you  at  such  a  moment.  Nothing  less  than  my  father's 
honor,  in  which  I  believe  his  life  also  bound  up,  would  I  put 
in  competition  with  your  need  of  a  friend,  who  is  vowed 
to  do  you  service  as  a  brother,  whether  you  will  honor  him 
by  admitting  his  claim  to  a  brother's  place  or  not.  1  have 
no  time  for  explanations  ;  I  must  trust  them  to  Mr.  Seton, 
who  has  promised  to  put  this  in  your  own  hands.  Let  me 
only  entreat  you,  by  the  memory  of  your  childhood,  trust 
me  as  your  brother,  and  as  a  proof  that  you  do  so,  use  the 
enclosed,  and  draw  on  me  for  whatever  you  need  afterward. 
It  is  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  show  me  that  I  have 
not  offended  you  in  what  I  am  now  doing.  Charles  will  go 
with  you  to  my  mother's,  where  it  will  be  my  delight  to 
find  you  on  my  return.  They  will  not  allow  me  another 
moment.  IT.  MORAY. 

"  Fold  it  quick,  Moray  ;  here  is  an  envelope,"  cried 
young  Seton. 

"  Mr.  Moray,  the  boat  will  leave  you,"  cried  Captain 
Rapall ;  "  your  ten  minutes  are  gone." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  you  may  trust  me ;  I  will  seal  it,  or, 


TWO   PICTUEES.  235 

better  deliver  it  as  it  is ;  it  will  show  her  what  haste  you 
were  in,  and  that  will  plead  your  excuse  for  all  omissions. 
Good-by  ;  I  hope  you  will  persuade  the  Commodore." 

"  Good-by  ;  give  that  to  Miss  Moray  herself;  I  can 
trust  you  more  fully  than  I  can  some  others  in  the  world," 
said  Hugh,  as  he  sprang  into  the  boat,  which  had  been  held 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  wharf  by  a  signal  from 
Captain  Rapall. 

The  Dolphin  was  a  fast  sailer,  and  little  more  than 
three  weeks  of  northerly  winds  brought  them  off  Vera  Cruz. 
There  lay  the  Congress,  her  sails  reefed,  her  anchors  down, 
everything  about  her  trim  and  clean,  and  her  beautifully 
proportioned  hull  and  tapering  spars  reflected  in  the  still, 
blue  water, 

"  Just  like  a  painted  ship, 
Upou  a  painted  ocean." 

A  peaceful  picture  it  was  indeed  without,  but  within  the 
idle  soldiers  scoffed,  enraging  the  brave  tars  who  loved 
their  kind  commander,  by  wondering  if  he  had  come  there 
to  show  his  ship  to  the  castle  ;  if  he  was  afraid  that  he 
should  get  his  pretty  toy-boats  knocked  to  pieces,  or  more 
red  paint  on  them  than  pleased  his  fancy,  that  he  kept  them 
there  broiling  in  the  sun,  while  there  stood  the  Mexicans 
waiting  for  them.  "  Ah  !  if  the  old  General  could  only  get 
ashore,  one  sight  of  his  noble  face,  rising  a  head  and  shoul 
ders  above  any  other  man's,  would  send  the  rascals  off  in 
double  quick  time,  before  we  had  time  to  fire  a  shot.  Just 
look  at  him  up  there  now ;  wouldn't  he  like  to  be  at  that 
castle !  I'm  afraid  he  wouldn't  be  careful  enough  of  your 
boats  to  please  your  nice  Commodore." 

Such  taunts,  daily  and  hourly  repeated,  and  growing 
more  bitter  as  time  wore  on,  but  for  the  vigilant  eye  and 
strong  hand  of  discipline,  might  have  caused  some  danger  of 


£36  TWO   PICTURES. 

outbreak  between  the  saucy,  idle  soldiery  and  the  brave  tars, 
each  holding  their  own  especial  commander  free  from  blame 
in  this  enforced  delay,  for  which,  in  truth,  both  were  respon 
sible.  If  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  land  forces  chafed  at 
this  idle  time — he  who  had  already  won  his  crown  of  laurels 
in  combat  against  a  nobler  foe,  on  the  field  of  Chippewa — 
how  must  it  have  galled  the  sensitive  nature  of  Commodore 
Moray,  now  for  the  first  time  entrusted  with  a  large,  inde 
pendent  command,  and  supposed  by  his  countrymen  at 
home  to  be  in  a  position  in  which  he  might  show  what  were 
his  true  qualities  as  a  leader.  Never  was  sight  more  wel 
come  to  him  than  the  Dolphin,  as,  with  white  wings  ex 
panded,  she  came  sailing  up  that  noble  harbor,  and  as  she 
passed  the  Congress  to  anchor  in  her  stern,  fired  her  salute 
of  twenty -one  guns  to  the  Commodore's  flag.  The  schooner 
had  scarcely  anchored  when,  in  obedience  to  the  Commo 
dore's  signal,  the  gig  was  lowered  and  her  commander, 
accompanied  by  Hugh,  took  his  way  to  the  frigate. 

"  Hugh  !  my  son  !  what  brought  you  here  ?  "  cried 
Commodore  Moray,  pressing  his  sonrs  outstretched  hand  as 
he  stepped  upon  the  deck,  and  hardly  refraining  from  a  ten 
derer  greeting  than  he  thought  becoming  before  so  many 
witnesses — while  his  troubled  eye  showed  that  he  felt  sure 
only  some  sorrow  experienced  or  apprehended  could  have 
sent  Hugh  to  his  side. 

"All  well  at  home,  sir,"  said  Hugh,  briefly,  and  the 
Commodore's  eye  brightened  as,  with  an  unspoken  thanks 
giving,  he  turned  to  give  a  courteous  welcome  to  the  gray- 
haired,  weather-beaten  commander  of  the  Dolphin.  They 
descended  together  to  the  Commodore's  cabin,  the  Gen 
eral  accompanying  them.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed, 
and  the  General  and  the  commander  of  the  Dolphin  again 
appeared,  and  with  a  courteous  salute,  the  first  returned  to  his 
walk  upon  the  quarter  deck,  and  the  other,  after  a  few  hurried 


TWO   PICTURES.  237 

words  with  the  officers  standing  around,  went  over  the  ship's 
side  into  his  boat,  and  was  pulled  back  to  the  Dolphin. 

"  Confound  his  unsociality  ;  I'd  have  given  him  a  glass 
of  my  best  sherry  to  know  that  they  were  going  to  send  us 
one  or  two  more  boats  like  the  Dolphin,"  cried  one  of  the 
younger  lieutenants,  older  men  only  looking  their  disap 
pointment. 

Hugh  had  been  introduced  by  his  father  to  the  ship's 
captain,  and  stood  in  conversation  with  him  for  a  few  min 
utes  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  Commodore  Moray  was 
alone  he  became  abstracted,  and  kept  both  eye  and  ear  intent 
upon  the  door  of  the  cabin,  beside  which  the  sentinel  paced 
to  and  fro.  It  was  not  lontj  before  he  was  summoned.  The 

O 

door  closed  on  him,  and  Commodore  Moray  held  out  his 
hand  again,  saying,  in  a  voice  he  strove  in  vain  to  make 
firm,  "  So  you  have  come  to  show  your  father  you,  at  least, 
are  not  ashamed  of  him,  Hugh." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  taken  a  voyage  for  such  an  un 
necessary  object.  I  had  other  designs,  I  assure  you,  in 
coming." 

"  You  do  not  know,  then,  that  the  despatches  brought 
by  the  Dolphin  permit  me  to  resign  my  command  and  re 
turn  in  her  to  the  United  States,  as  another  will  be  sent 
out  immediately  to  take  my  place." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  that,  and  yet  more ;  I  can  tell  you 
who  your  successor  will  be." 

"  Puffer,  of  course  ? — I  see  I  am  right.  Well,  I  must  bear 
it ;  but  a  Mexican  ball  would  have  been  a  less  cruel  death." 

"  Father !  "  exclaimed  Hugh,  as  Commodore  Moray 
turned  away  to  hide  the  heaving  chest  and  moist  eyes,  of 
which  he  need  not  have  been  ashamed,  "  Father !  listen  to 
me,  and  all  this  may  be  redeemed.  I  come  by  the  advice 
of  your  best  friends  in  the  navy,  to  entreat  you  not  to  accept 
this  treacherous  permission — not  to  resign." 


TWO    PICTURES. 

"  I  have  no  such  intention,  Hugh ;  I  shall  never  turn  my 
back  on  yonder  shore  till  I  have  seen  the  stars  and  stripes 
floating  there.  I  shall  leave  the  Congress  and  go  on  board 
the  Dolphin  ;  I  will  not  interfere  with  Puffer's  command ; 
1  will  hoist  no  broad  pennant ;  but,  since  the  department  has 
graciously  given  me  command  of  the  Dolphin,  I  will  take 
her  as  near  to  that  shore  as  I  can  without  putting  her  on  it, 
and  every  shot  she  fires  shall  "tell  the  world  I  am  no 
craven." 

The  brave  old  man's  eyes  flashed,  and  the  veins  on  his 
temples  stood  out  like  cords. 

How  Hugh  longed  for  his  mother  at  that  moment,  for 
he  felt  that  only  a  woman's  gentle  caressing  touch  could 
soothe  that  agony.  He  had  no  words  of  comfort  for  it ;  he 
could  only  say,  "  This  was  not  what  I  hoped  you  would  do, 
father  ;  it  was  not  what  your  friends,  especially  Captain 
Rapall,  through  whose  advice  I  came,  advised." 

"  What  then  ?  " — the  tone  of  the  question  was  abrupt. 

"  They  thought  you  should  retain  your  command,  make 
all  your  arrangements  for  landing  the  troops — " 

"  They  were  made  long  ago  ;  I  have  had  nothing  to  do 
but  study  the  coast  and  make  plans." 

"  Then,  they  said,  order  the  schooners  up  as  soon  as  they 
were  near  enough  to  make  out  your  signal,  put  the  troops 
on  board,  and  commence  the  attack  at  once  ;  they  were  sure 
General  S would  cooperate  with  you." 

"  And  where  would  Puffer  be  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  in  his  own  ship,  perhaps  in  yours,  but  he  is 
your  junior,  and  the  despatches  superseding  you,  you  would 
be  too  busy  to  read  till  the  action  was  over."  Hugh  ended 
with  a  smile,  for  he  had  talked  himself,  if  not  his  father,  into 
very  cheerful  anticipations. 

"  A  very  pretty  plot,  Hugh,  a  very  pretty  plot ;  but 
your  father  was  not  made  for  a  plotter." 


TWO   PICTURES.  239 

"  But,  dear  father,  there  are  those  at  the  department 
who  are  at  war  with  you,  and  stratagems  are  permitted  in 
war." 

"  Still,  an  honorable  man  would  never  practise  them  in 
a  private  quarrel." 

"  But,  father,  indeed  I  can  see  nothing  wrong  here.  You 
are  the  commander  of  the  squadron  till  displaced  by  the 
positive  command  of  the  flepartment,  which  cannot  take 
effect  till  you  receive  their  despatch." 

"  And  I,  knowing  that  Commodore  Pufler  has  that  des 
patch  in  his  pocket,  refuse  to  see  him,  or  refuse  to  receive  it 
till  I  have  executed  my  own  will !  No,  Hugh.  While  I 
hold  my  commission  I  am  bound  to  obey  the  orders  of  my 
government,  issued  through  its  legitimate  channels ;  I  do 
not  deny  that  there  are  occasions — rare  occasions — when  an 
officer  may  run  the  risk  of  disobedience,  but  it  must  not  be 
for  his  private  advantage." 

"Captain  Rapall  assured  me  they  would  not  dare  to 
try  you,  for  fear  of  exposing  their  own  game  ;  moreover,  he 
said,  the  country  would  sustain  you  if  you  were  successful, 
and  of  your  success  he  did  not  doubt." 

"  Nor  do  I ;  it  is  certain,  if  we  can  get  within  cannon 
shot  of  the  shore,  though  it  will  not  be  as  bloodless  as  peo 
ple  at  home  believe ;  but  is  an  honorable  man  obedient  only 
because  he  fears  punishment  ?  or  shall  we  do  evil  that  good 
may  come  ?  Wilful  disobedience  it  would  be,  and  I  should 
deserve  to  be  cashiered ;  I  dread  my  own  verdict  quite  as 
much  as  I  do  that  of  a  court ;  the  world  may  condemn  me, 
but,  thank  God  !  my  own  conscience  will  acquit  me." 

"  Father,  will  you  speak  to  General  S of  this  be 
fore  you  decide?  he  is  a  brave  and  honorable  man,  and  if 
he—" 

"  No,  Hugh  ;  I  will  take  counsel  of  none  but  my  own 
conscience  ;  I  will  strive  to  do  right,  let  what  will  come  of 
11 


240  TWO   PICTURES. 

it,  and  when  Puffer's  pennant  is  in  sight,  I  will  haul  down 
mine,  though  I  would  rather  cutoff  my  right  hand  than  give 
it  such  work  to  do ;  and  I  will  go  on  board  the  Dolphin, 
simple  Captain  Moray." 

And  from  this  determination,  though  sleepless  nights 
and  days  of  painful  thoughts  left  their  impress  on  his  pale, 
stern  face,  Captain  Moray  never  swerved.  When,  two  days 
after  Hugh's  arrival,  Commodore  Puffer's  flag  appeared  on 
board  the  Flint  which  entered  the  harbor,  followed  at  no 
great  distance  by  two  other  sloops  of  war,  Commodore  Mo 
ray  himself  drew  down  his  pennon,  and  with  his  son  and 
secretary  descended  to  his  gig  and  was  rowed  to  the  Dol 
phin.  It  w'as  a  touching  scene,  and  perhaps,  could  Commo 
dore  Moray  have  known  the  feelings  of  admiring  deference 
with  which  all,  from  the  gallant  General  to  the  humblest  tar, 
regarded  him  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  felt  him 
self  repaid  for  his  outward  humiliation.  Something  of  it  he 
did  know,  for  as  soon  as  it  was  rumored  that  he  was  to 
transfer  his  flag  to  the  Dolphin,  and  suspected  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  bring  her  into  action,  more  officers  and  sail 
ors  volunteered  to  accompany  him  than  the  little  craft  could 
have  accommodated.  Hugh  knew  by  the  glistening  eyes 
and  heaving  bosom  of  his  father  how  these  demonstrations 
touched  his  heart.  It  was  then  first  that  it  became  known 
to  all  on  board  that  Commodore  Moray  was  to  be  super 
seded  by  Commodore  Puffer  in  the  command  of  the 
squadron,  and  that  he  would  return  home  in  the  Dolphin. 

It  was  a  lovely  day  when  Commodore  Puffer  at  length 
arrived.  The  clear,  blue  summer  sky  was  reflected  un 
broken  in  the  almost  waveless  sea,  as  Commodore  Moray 
descended  for  the  last  time  the  frigate's  side.  Every  man 
was  at  his  post,  and  as,  after  shaking  hands  with  the  officers, 
the  Commodore  looked  around  him  with  a  mute  gesture  of 
farewell,  one  loud  spontaneous  cheer  burst  from  the  men. 


TWO    PICTURES. 

That  heart-stirring  sound  had  scarcely  died  away  when 
it  was  echoed  back  from  the  Dolphin,  as  Commodore 
Moray  stepped  upon  her  deck,  and  again  the  men  on  board 
the  frigate  caught  the  dying  sounds  and  sent  them  back 
across  the  wave,  and  as  the  Commodore's  flag  streamed  out 
from  the  little  Vessel,  it  was  saluted  by  the  camion  of  both 
ships. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  will  not  please  Puffer,"  said  Commo 
dore  Moray,  as  he  saw  the  first  flash  from  the  frigate,  "  and, 
indeed,  Mr.  Pitman,"  turning  to  the  lieutenant  command 
ing  the  Dolphin,  "  I  did  not  intend  to  hoist  my  flag  on 
board.  I  have  no  command  now.  I  am  but  your  pas 
senger  ;  though,  with  your  permission,  I  shall  detain  the 
Dolphin  till  after  the  attack  is  made,  and  assume  com 
mand  of  her  for  that  one  day." 

"  We  shall  all  be  proud  to  be  so  commanded,  sir ;  and 
we  hope  you  will  let  us  bear  your  pennant.  Commodore 
Puffer  will  not  break  his  heart,  we  may  hope,  at  carrying  a 
blue  flag  instead  of  a  red  for  a  few  days." 

"  We  will  not  try  his  magnanimity  so  far,"  said  Com 
modore  Moray,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  he  is  Commo 
dore  of  the  squadron,  not  I ;  that  pennant  must  be  lowered, 
Mr.  Pitman." 

The  last  words  were  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of  no 
remonstrance,  and  the  order  was  obeyed  promptly,  though 
with  reluctance. 

Commodore  Puffer's  flag  was  soon  after  saluted.  A 
really  active  and  meritorious  officer,  notwithstanding  the 
vanity  which  made  him  sometimes  forgetful  of  the  claims 
of  brother  officers  as  deserving  as  himself,  but  less  self-con 
scious,  he  lost  no  time  in  entering  on  his  new  duties.  The 
salute  had  scarcely  ceased  when  he  presented  himself  on 
board  the  frigate  to  confer  with  the  commander-in-chief. 
He  had  expected  to  meet  Commodore  Moray  also  on  board, 


TWO   PICTURES. 

butrfinding  that  he  had  already  withdrawn  to  the  Dolphin, 
he  sent  his  secretary  to  that  vessel  with  a  note,  requesting 
the  Commodore  to  join  their  conference.  Commodore  Mo 
ray  declined  to  do  this,  but  sent  back  the  plan  which  he  hud 
himself  drawn  up  for  the  landing  of  the  troops  and  the  as 
sault  to  be  made  by  the  ships  upon  the  castle  and  town,  for 
the  purpose  of  covering  their  landing.  In  this  plan  there 
was  one  point  marked,  "  Important,  but,  I  fear,  not  to  be 
attained.  It  may  be  held  with  comparative  safety,  if  it  can 
be  reached."  In  his  note  the  Commodore  wrote,  "  It  is  my 
intention  not  to  leave  the  harbor  till  after  the  attack,  for  per 
sonal  reasons,  as  well  as  because  I  believe  the  Dolphin  may 
do  good  service  on  that  day.  You  will  find  on  the  plan 
sent  a  point  marked  '  Important,  but,  I  fear,  not  to  be  at 
tained,  &c ; '  if  you  will  leave  that  to  the  Dolphin,  her 
commander  will  try  to  give  you  a  good  account  of  it ;  I  ask 
this  as  a  favor  to  myself." 

The  favor  was,  of  course,  granted,  in  a  note  in  which  Com 
modore  Puffer  acknowledged  the  value  of  the  plan  submitted 
to  him,  and  said  that,  as  the  commander-in-chief  entirely 
approved  of  it,  and  as  it  was  of  the  first  importance  to  act 
immediately,  he  should  not  delay  for  any  further  examina 
tion,  but  would  commence  the  action  the  next  day  at  8 
A.  M.  This  was  followed  by  information  respecting  signals, 
and  the  note  concluded  thus  :  "  If  more  men  are  wanted  on 
board  the  Dolphin,  they  may  be  detached  from  the 
frigate."  Commodore  Moray  sent  a  note  that  evening  to 
Capt.  Kecler  of  the  frigate,  requesting  him  to  send  him 
twenty  men,  adding  that,  as  it  was  a  sort  of  "forlorn  hope" 
that  he  was  about  to  lead,  he  should  like  to  have  volunteers 
for  it.  Accordingly  Capt.  Keeler,  after  assembling  the  men 
on  deck,  and  making  a  little  speech,  in  which  he  said  that 
their  gallant  old  Commodore  wanted  twenty  men  for  the 
Dolphin,  which  he  should  himself  command  during  the 


TWO  ricxuKEs.  243 

fight  the  next  day,  and  which  he  meant  to  station  where  she 
would  get  the  most  balls  of  any  ship  in  action,  asked,  "  Who 
will  be  one  of  the  twenty  1 " 

"  I — I — I — "  rang  over  the  ship,  in  such  a  shout  that  it 
was  difficult  to  know,  not  who  had  spoken,  but  who  had 
been  silent ;  and  after  he  had  selected  the  twenty  whom  he 
supposed  most  serviceable  from  those  who  offered,  ten 
others  urged  their  claim  so  earnestly,  that  they  were  per 
mitted  to  present  themselves  to  Commodore  Moray,  who 
would  not  reject  the  brave  fellows. 

The  morning  sun  rose  calm  and  clear ;  the  healthful 
breeze  stirred  the  blue  waves  into  quicker  life,  and  filled  the 
Vi'hite  canvas  as  the  ships,  no  longer  held  by  their  anchors, 
were  turned  with  their  prows  toward  the  shore.  Those 
ships  looked  little  like  bearers  of  wounds  and  death;  as 
their  gay  flags  streamed  out  upon  the  air,  their  bands  played 
their  inspiriting  marches,  and  officers  and  men,  dressed  as 
for  a  gala  day,  and  wearing  the  cheerful  faces  that  would 
befit  a  gala  day,  took  each  his  post.  It  has  always  seemed 
to  us  that  in  naval  warfare  a  courage  of  nobler  character 
was  required  than  in  contests  on  the  land.  In  the  last,  th.e 
blood  is  stirred  by  the  rush  to  meet  the  enemy,  by  the 
actual  fight,  often  hand  to  hand  with  a  visible  foe,  so  that 
something  of  personal  feeling  almost  necessarily  mingles  in 
the  encounter.  But  he  who  stands  to  serve  the  cannon,  to 
pilot  the  ship,  or  to  direct  the  manoeuvres  in  a  naval  engage 
ment,  must  do  all  with  the  cool,  collected  courage  of  one 
who  stands  there  to  do  his  duty  even  unto  death,  yet  with 
nothing  to  give  a  quicker  flow  to  the  blood,  or  to  awaken  the 
feelings  that  are  stirred  in  the  most  peaceable  by  a  personal 
assault. 

The  narration  of  this  morning's  events  belongs  to  his 
tory.  Our  business  is  with  the  little  schooner,  which  car 
ries  those  in  whose  fortunes  we  have  an  especial  interest. 


244  TWO    PICTURES. 

Commodore  Moray  would  have  had  Hugh  go  back 
to  the  Congress,  telling  him  that  it  was  not  his  duty  to 
remain,  and  even  that  his  presence  Avould  interfere  with  his 
own  calmness  in  action  ;  but  Hugh  suggested  that  it  would 
discourage  his  men,  if  they  saw  him  sending  his  own  son 
out  of  the  battle  into  which  he  was  leading  them. 

"  But  remember  your  mother  arid  sisters,  Hugh,  how 
much  they  will  need  you  if  anything  happen  to  me." 

"  I  will  not  forget  them,  father,  I  will  not  expose  myself 
unnecessarily  ;  but  I  may  be  of  use  to  you — I  shall  at  least 
know  all  that  happens  to  you." 

Commodore  Moray  yielded.  lie  had  taken  the  com 
mand  of  the  Dolphin,  and  now  stood  upon  her  deck 
dressed  in  the  full  uniform  of  his  rank,  with  a  face  that  was 
pale  with  concentrated  feeling,  but  with  a  more  cheerful 
countenance  than  he  had  shown  for  many  weeks.  There 
was  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  if  not  upon  his  lips,  and  the  men  on 
board,  taking  their  tone  from  what  they  supposed  to  be  his, 
laughed  lightly  as  the  formidable  artillery  of  the  Castle 
opened  its  fire  on  the  approaching  ships,  while  they  were 
yet  too  distant  to  be  touched  by  it.  The  sound  of  that 
laugh  aroused  a  new  train  of  thought  with  Captain  Moray. 
He  measured  their  distance  from  the  Castle  with  his  eye, 
glanced  at  the  course  he  had  himself  marked  for  the  ship, 
and  ordered  Lieutenant  Pitman  to  direct  the  men  to  corne 
aft,  while  he  said  a  few  words  to  the  chaplain  of  the  ship. 

"  My  men,"  he  said,  when  all  except  the  helmsman  stood 
there  before  him,  "  we  are  going  into  no  child's  play, — we 
are  not  afraid  of  death  when  we  meet  it  in  our  country's 
service;  but  we  shall  not  meet  it  with  less  courage  for 
knowing  that  it  will  give  us  entrance  into  heaven.  A  short 
prayer  from  the  chaplain,  and  then  every  man  to  his  post." 

Every  head  was  uncovered,  and  bowed  with  at  least  the 
aspect  of  solemn  reverence  as  the  chaplain  asked  the  mercy 


TWO    PICTURES.  245 

of  Heaven  on  the  bodies  and  souls  not  only  of  those  present, 
but  of  all  who  were  that  day  to  meet  in  combat,  whether 
friend  or  foe. 

We  know  there  are  those  to  whom  such  prayer,  under 
such  circumstances,  would  seem  an  impious  mockery  ;  but 
not  so  do  we  regard  it — not  so  are  we  taught  by  Him  to 
whom  all  human  wisdom  is  but  folly.  It  was  when  the  hands 
of  Moses  were  lifted  to  Heaven  that  Israel  prevailed.  Little 
do  those  know  of  magnanimity  who  cannot  conceive  of  a  man 
praying  for  the  enemy  and  doing  good  to  him  as  he  has 
opportunity,  against  whom  he  will  yet  fight  so  long  as  he 
stands  in  opposition  to  his  country,  or  to  the  cause  which  he 
has  pledged  himself  to  support. 

"  Every  man  to  his  post ;  and  remember,  live  or  die, 
our  country  will  know  how  we  have  done  our  duty  this 
day." 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  alacrity ;  and  if  after  this 
the  tone  of  the  men  was  less  gay,  it  was  not  less  manly. 
The  merriment  of  the  scoffing  infidel,  in  the  presence  of 
death,  is  a  poor  bravado,  meant  to  hide  from  others  the 
heart  which  he  feels  to  be  trembling  within  him.  It  is  the 
Christian  alone  who  can  be  at  once  wise  and  brave. 

Still,  for  some  minutes  after  this,  the  Dolphin  pur 
sued  a  course  outside  the  line  within  which  fell  the  shot 
from  the  castle ;  but  when  she  had  arrived  opposite  the 
point  marked  out  for  her  station  during  the  landing  of  the 
troops,  the  prow  was  suddenly  turned  shoreward.  The  men 
had  been  ordered  to  shelter  themselves,  as  far  as  it  was  pos 
sible  to  do  so,  till  the  station  at  which  they  aimed  was 
reached.  The  guns  of  the  little  schooner  could  do  little 
against  the  castle,  but  she  could  do  good  service,  first  by 
drawing  its  fire  upon  herself,  while  the  boats  from  the  other 
vessels  were  landing  the  soldiers,  and  after  she  had  reached 
her  proposed  station,  by  preventing  sallies  from  the  castle, 


246  TWO   PICTUKES. 

as  her  shot  would  completely  rake  the  plain  between  the 
castle  and  the  spot  selected  for  the  landing  of  the  American 
forces.  Within  a  few  minutes  after  the  Dolphin's  course 
was  changed,  the  shot  from  the  enemy  began  to  fall  thick 
and  fast  around  her.  The  men  were  sheltered,  as  we  have 
said — the  helmsman  alone  excepted.  Some  attempt  had 
been  made,  by  order  of  Commodore  Moray,  to  strengthen 
the  shelter  provided  for  him,  but  it  seemed  only  to  offer  a 
mark  for  attack,  and  was  soon  knocked  to  pieces,  and  the 
man  himself  so  wounded,  that  he  fell  helpless  on  the  deck. 
Another  started  forward  to  take  his  place. 

"  Back  !  buck,  sir  !  "  shouted  Commodore  Moray,  as  he 
stepped  at  once  to  the  spot,  beside  which  he  had  stood  to 
deliver  his  orders  more  rapidly,  and  seized  the  wheel  himself. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pitman,  springing  to  'iris 
side,  "  but  that  is  my  place  rather  than  yours." 

"  Your  place  is  the  one  I  assigned  to  you,  sir  !  back  to 
it,  this  instant !  "  again  shouted  the  Commodore,  too  impera 
tively  to  be  disobeyed. 

Fast  and  furious  fell  that  iron  hail ;  and  still,  though 
some  of  her  spars  were  carried  away  and  her  sails  torn,  the 
gallant  craft  held  on  her  way  with  one  form  only  rising 
above  her  bulwarks — the  form  of  Commodore  Moray. 
Every  eye  on  the  deck  was  turned  to  him,  and  none  saw  an 
instant's  change  in  that  smiling  eye  and  calm  face*  Hugh 
saw  him  not,  for  his  father  had  taken  care  to  give  him  em 
ployment  with  the  surgeon  below.  Long  it  seemed  as  if  he 
bore  a  charmed  life,  but  at  length  a  sudden  spasm  contract 
ed  his  brow,  and  his  right  arm  fell  helpless  to  his  side. 
Scarcely  paler  than  before,  scarcely  less  cheerful  was  his 
face,  as  he  laid  his  left  hand  on  the  wheel,  and  moved  so  as 
to  use  it  with  effect ;  the  blood  soaked  his  sleeve,  and  ran  in 
a  little  stream  where  he  stood,  but  the  strong  spirit  did  not 
falter.  Another  ball  shattered  his  thich  ;  he  bent  to  his 


TWO   PICTURES.  247 

knee,  yet  still  his  hand  grasped  the  wheel,  and  even  as  he 
sank  into  unconsciousness,  his  fainting  voice  uttered,  "  Not 
yet !  back  for  one  moment ! "  to  those  who  approached  to 
bear  him  below.  But  there  was  little  farther  need  for 
such  an  order.  They  had  got  beyond  the  line  which  it  had 
seemed  madness  to  enter.  Her  hull  leaking  badly,  her  sails 
hanging,  one  mast  shot  away,  and  lying  a  helpless  ruin  on 
deck,  the  Dolphin  slowly,  with  the  help  of  a  single  sail, 
reached  her  station  and  began  the  work  assigned  her.  It 
was  brave  work,  and  those  who  saw  it  felt  that  no  ship  had 
done  more  for  the  cause  than  had  the  Dolphin,  as  her 
fire,  steadily  and  skilfully  delivered,  again  and  again  drove 
back  the  advancing  foe. 

Two  days  after  the  landing  of  the  forces,  the  Congress 
was  sent  home  with  those  who  had  been  seriously  wounded. 
Commodore  Moray  occupied  his  former  cabin,  in  which  a 
hammock  had  been  slung  for  Hugh.  His  leg  and  part  of 
his  thigh  had  been  amputated  ;  but  the  surgeon  still  hoped 
that  his  arm  might  be  saved.  He  was  too  weak  to  do  any 
thing  but  look  his  wishes,  and  to-  Hugh's  anxious  inquiries 
the  surgeon  could  only  answer  with  hopes.  Before  they 
arrived  in  New  York,  to  which  port  the  ship  had  been 
ordered  by  Commodore  Puffer,  principally  on  Commodore 
Moray's  account,  fever  had  set  in,  which  lent  him  tempora 
ry  strength,  even  while  diminishing  the  chance  of  his  ultimate 
recovery.  The  surgeon,  though  desiring  to  keep  him  silent, 
could  not  prevent  his  speaking  to  Hugh  at  this  time.  "  Hugh, 
there  is  one  thing  I  must  say  to  you,"  he  began,  as  soon  as 
he  had  strength  for  speech. 

"  We  shall  have  time  enough  for  it  by  and  by,  father, 
better  not  exhaust  yourself  now." 

"  We  know  not  what  time  we  shall  have,  and  I  must  say 
it.  They  told  you,  I  heard  them,  that  I  had  exposed  myself 
madly— thrown  away  my  life.  That  would  have  been  un- 


2-18  TWO   PICTURES. 

Christian.  They  did  not  know,  Hugh,  that  there  was  some 
personal  feeling  mingling  with  the  motives  that  made  mo 
volunteer  for  that  service — I  am  afraid  the  personal  feeling 
was  the  strongest,"  and  a  groan,  which  his  physical  suffering 
had  never  wrung  from  him,  quivered  from  his  pale  lips  : 
"  God  forgive  me  1  I  felt  when  that  poor  helmsman  fell  at 
my  feet — he  is  better  now,  Hugh  ? " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  I  felt  then  as  if  he  had  fallen,  not  in  the  service  of  his 
country,  but  in  my  personal  quarrel ;  it  was  a  terrible 
pang,  and  I  determined  none  but  I  should  take  that  exposed 
place  while  God  gave  me  life  and  strength  to  hold  it.  Tell 
your  mother  how  it  was,  Hugh,  and  do  not  let  her  think 
1  threw  away  the  life  she  valued,  and  which  was  God's,  not 
mine." 

"  You  will  tell  her  yourself,  dear  father,"  said  Hugh ; 
"  to-morrow  evening  we  shall  be  in  New  York." 

Before  the  Congress  had  reached  New  York,  the  news 
of  the  landing  of  the  forces  by  the  fleet  under  the  command 
of  Commodore  Puffer,  had  been  carried  there  by  the  tele 
graph  from  New  Orleans.  For  some  days  the  daily  papers, 
throughout  the  country,  were  as  eulogistic  of  that  officer  as 
if  he  had  himself  written  the  articles  treating  of  the  event. 
How  bitterly  fell  these  articles,  full  of  ungenerous  com 
ments  on  the  incapacity  of  him  whom  Commodore  Puffer  had 
superseded,  upon  the  hearts  of  the  little  household  at  Eliza- 
bethtown.  They  could  have  borne  any  wound  better  than 
one  that  reached  them  through  his  sensitive  heart.  Mrs. 
Moray  never  lost  her  faith  in  him  for  an  instant. 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  if  he  had  only  landed  them  ! "  cried  the 
weeping,  excited  Lily. 

"  Wait,  Lily,  you  will  find  he  has  done  all  that  was  his 
duty." 

A  few  days  before  the  arrival  of  the  Congress,  a  new 


TWO   PICTtTRES.  240 

light  began  to  dawn  upon  the  public.  A  letter  from  the 
commander-in-chief  had  given  honor  where  honor  was  due, 
without  breathing  the  spirit  of  a  champion  against  wrong. 
By  a  simple  detail  of  facts,  it  was  seen  that  no  means  of  cov 
ering  the  landing  of  troops  had  been  given  to  Commodore 
Moray ;  that  Commodore  Puffer  had  been  able  to  act  so 
promptly  only  because  he  found  everything  prepared  for 
him  ;  that  the  plan  of  operations,  which  had  been  so  much 
lauded,  had  been  given  by  Commodore  Moray  to  his  suc 
cessor,  and  that  the  most  difficult  and  dangerous  part  of  that 
plan  had  been  undertaken  and  executed  by  himself. 

The  papers,  with  more  or  less  grace,  unsaid  their  says, 
so  far  as  they  reflected  on  him  who  was  now  acknowledged 
to  be  the  true  hero  of  the  day.  Transparencies  of  Commo 
dore  Puffer's  full-length  likeness  figured,  it  is  true,  at  all  the 
illuminations,  and  over  the  doors  of  the  Whig  headquarters 
in  every  town — Commodore  Puffer  was  a  whig — but  every 
one  knew  that  the  transparencies,  having  been  painted,  must 
be  used,  and  the  democratic  party  soon  had  Commodore 
Moray  suspended  over  their  headquarters.  It  is  true,  the 
likeness  was  not  very  good,  as  Commodore  Moray  had 
never  been  thought  a  man  of  sufficient  importance  to  be 
asked  to  sit  for  his  picture ;  but  the  transparency  was,  we 
must  acknowledge,  much  handsomer  than  the  Commodore 
himself,  so  he  surely  had  no  reason  to  complain ;  and 
besides  that,  the  artist  had  guarded  against  mistakes  by 
labelling  his  picture,  Commodore  James  Moray.  It  could 
scarcely  have  been  mistaken  by  any  who  had  read  the  letter 
sent  by  Mr.  Seton,  though  without  his  name,  to  the  New 
York  Herald,  giving  a  detailed  account  of  the  action,  since 
the  moment  chosen  for  representation  was  that  in  which  the 
Commodore  was  sinking  to  the  deck  under  his  second 
wound,  while  his  left  hand  still  grasped  the  wheel,  and  his 
right  hung  useless  at  his  side.  The  city  of  New  York  had 


250  TWO   PICTURES. 

promised  itself  the  enjoyment  of  a  grand  demonstration 
in  a  public  reception  of  the  Commodore,  in  expectation  of 
which  one  alderman  had  bought  up  large  quantities  of  pow 
der,  and  another  had  speculated  in  fireworks,  both  intend 
ing  to  sell  out  to  the  city,  of  course,  doubling  their  money. 
Both  these  gentlemen  felt  themselves  aggrieved  when  they 
understood  that  Commodore  Moray's  condition  was  such  as 
to  render  rejoicings  at  his  reception  somewhat  ill-timed. 
Had  not  an  astute  associate  suggested  that  public  rejoicings 
at  the  success  to  which  he  had  so  largely  contributed  would 
be  admissible,  even  if  the  Commodore  should  prove  to  be 
mortally  wounded,  they  would  have  changed  sides  and 
backed  Commodore  Puffer  as  the  hero  of  the  day.  The 
same  gentleman  added  that,  should  the  Commodore  die  on 
his  way  home,  the  city  would  doubtless  pay  well  for  funeral 
honors,  out  of  which  a  pretty  thing  might  be  made  with 
good  management.  So  the  two  city  fathers  took  the  Com 
modore's  reputation  again  under  their  guardianship,  hasten 
ing  their  preparations  for  the  rejoicings,  lest. the  funeral  at 
which  the  fireworks  and  much  of  the  powder  would  be 
unnecessary,  might  interfere  with  them.  It  was  in  conse 
quence  of  this  haste  that  the  Congress  anchored  amidst  a 
blaze  of  light  thrown  across  the  bay  from  the  illuminated 
city,  and  that  the  wounded  men,  many  of  them  delirious 
with  fever,  were  disturbed  by  the  booming  of  cannon  long 
after  the  surgeons  had  hoped  to  see  them  lulled  to  repose 
by  the  cessation  of  motion  in  the  ship.  Early  the  next 
morning,  when  the  sun  was  scarcely  an  .hour  high,  a  boat 
approached  the  Congress  from  the  navy  yard.  In  her  stern 
sat  the  Commodore  of  the  yard,  and  beside  him  a  lady,  who 
was  so  closely  veiled  and  shawled  that  it  was  not  easy  to 
distinguish  either  face  or  figure  ;  yet,  as  she  was  handed 
with  respectful  attention  to  the  deck,  Hugh  Moray  recog 
nized  his  mother  in  the  movements  so  full  of  gentle  dignity, 


TWO   PICTURES.  251 

and  hastened  to  her  side.  She  raised  her  veil,  and  all  read 
in  the  pale,  but  beautiful  face,  the  sorrow  which  has  no 
words.  To  the  mute  questioning  of  her  melancholy  eyes, 
Hugh  answered,  "Alive,  dear  mother,  and  I  hope  he  will 
know  you,  and  be  better  for  the  knowledge,"  yet  there  was 
something  in  his  voice  which  forbade  her  to  hope. 

"  You  may  trust  my  mother's  self-command,"  said  Hugh, 
turning  to  the  surgeon. 

'•  1  hope  so,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone  which  showed 
how  needful  it  was  considered,  and  the  surgeon  preceded 
them  into  the  Commodore's  cabin,  intimating  by  a  gesture 
that  they  should  wait  a  moment  at  the  door. 

It  was  but  a  moment,  and  he  passed  out,  bidding  them 
enter.  Commodore  Moray  looked  up  with  an  agitated 
smile,  "  My  wife  !  " 

A  silent,  quivering  kiss  upon  his  trembling  lips,  a  soft, 
caressing  hand  upon  his  gray  locks,  was  her  greeting.  She 
could  not  speak,  lest  sobs  should  come  with  her  words — she 
turned  aside  her  face  that  the  big,  silent  tears  should  not 
drop  upon  his.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
brushing  away  her  tears,  she  pressed  her  lips  to  his  broad 
forehead.  He  looked  up  with  a  faint  smile,  and  whispered, 
"  Did  you  know  I  had  left  part  of  myself  behind  me  ?" 

"  I  know  you  have  brought  me  all  I  value  in  your  own 
great  heart,  my  hero  ! " 

He  smiled ;  such  praise  was  sweet  to  his  childlike, 
loving  heart. 

"  How  did  you  hear  ?  "  he  asked  a  moment  afterward. 

"  Through  the  papers  ;  letters  were  sent  by  the  way  of 
New  Orleans — all  the  world  knows  now  what  I  knew 
always — "  Her  voice  was  choked — it  was  not  the  present 
sorrow  that  overcame  her,  for  that  she  had  nerved  herself. 
It  was  the  memory  of  those  long  years  of  injustice  under 


252  TWO   PICTURES. 

which  his  life  ha^  faded  away  in  silent  sorrow,  and  to  vindi 
cate  himself  from  which  he  had  faced  such  deadly  peril. 

Dr.  Maxwell,  the  surgeon,  soon  became  convinced  that 
Commodore  Moray  could  have  no  nurse  like  his  wife ; 
and  as  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  remain  on  board 
the  Congress,  which  Commodore  Puffer  had  requested 
should  be  ordered  back  to  the  Gulf,  it  was  determined  to 
attempt  to  convey  him  to  his  home  at  Elizabethtown.  This 
was  rendered  comparatively  easy  by  the  ready  civilities  of 
railroad  corporations  and  steamboat  directors,  all  pleased 
to  bring  their  names  before  the  public  in  connection  with 
one  whom  all  now  delighted  to  honor.  A  steamboat  came 
alongside  of  the  Congress,  and  received  the  Commodore, 
who  was  lifted  on  board  in  his  couch,  and  accompanied  by 
his  surgeon  and  son,  and  by  eight  or  ten  stout  sailors  who 
were  to  bear  him  from  the  steamboat  at  Jersey  City  to  the 
special  car,  which  had  been  offered  by  the  railroad  com 
pany  for  his  use,  and  from  which  several  seats  had  been 
removed  to  make  room  for  his  couch.  The  same  men  at 
tended  him  in  the  car,  and  bore  him  with  careful  tread  to 
his  own  home,  asking  as  their  reward  to  be  allowed  before 
they  went,  to  press  their  old  commander's  hand,  in  token 
of  their  love  and  reverence,  and  positively  refusing  the 
money  that  Hugh  would  have  pressed  on  their  acceptance. 
And  at  every  place  at  which  they  stopped  on  the  route, 
crowds  paused  to  gaze  with  eager  eyes  upon  the  carriage,  or 
the  curtained  couch,  that  contained  one  who  but  a  little  while 
ago  had  walked  amonjr  thorn  with  "  none  to  do  him  rev- 

CJ  O 

erence." 

Let  us  close  this  sad  and  "  o'er  true  talc."  The  sum 
mer  passed  away  with  varying  hopes  and  fears  to  those 
with  every  cord  of  whose  loving  hearts,  the  brave  old  vet 
eran's  life  seemed  bound.  Autumn  came,  and  clinging  to 
the  hope  which  grew  fainter  day  by  day.  they  said,  "  The 


TWO   PICTURES.  253 

bracing  air  will  revive  him  ;"  but  he  shrank  from  it.  What 
braced  them,  chilled  his  exhausted  frame.  He  had-  been 
able,  after  his  leg  had  healed,  to  sit  in  a  large  chair  for  sev 
eral  hours  each  day,  and  even  occasionally  to  take  a  turn  or 
two  across  the  room  with  Hugh's  assistance  and  the  use  of 
a  cane ;  but  day  by  day,  as  the  winter  came  on,  his  strength 
decreased,  he  sat  up  less,  and  at  length  there  came  a  day 
when  he  begged  to  have  a  couch  placed  beside  his  bed,  and 
only  to  be  helped  from  the  one  to  the  other.  These  changes 
formed  sad  epochs  to  the  loving  heart  which  had  shared  his 
griefs  and  watched  beside  his  bed  of  suffering  without  one 
selfish  thought.  When  the  couch  was  brought,  her  gentle 
hand  smoothed  its  pillows,  and  as  he  laid  his  head  upon 
them,  he  looked  up  with  his  old,  sweet  smile,  and  said, 
"  How  sweet  it  is  to  have  you  to  nurse  me,  darling." 

She  could  bear  no  more.  Falling  on  her  knees  beside 
him,  the  long  repressed  agony  burst  forth.  Her  tears  and 
kisses,  mingled,  fell  upon  his  hands,  his  cheeks,  his  lips,  and 
when  he  passed  his  arm  around  her  neck  and  drew  her  head 
to  his  bosom,  she  lay  there  and  sobbed  as  a  weary  child 
sobs  on  its  mother's  breast.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  till 
her  sobs  had  ceased,  though  her  tears  still  dropped  and  her 
kisses  were  pressed  upon  the  hand  that  embraced  her ;  then 
he  said,  "  I  am  glad,  darling,  since  we  were  to  part,  that  it 
was  so — they  cannot  refuse  you  the  pension  now." 

"  Hush  !  hush !  it  would  be  to  me  the  price  of  your 
blood,"  she  answered,  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  and  with  a 
shudder. 

"  You  must  not  feel  so,  love.  You  know  if  they  had 
left  me  undisturbed,  we  must  have  had  the  fight  just  the 
same." 

"  No  !  oh  no  !  not  the  same.     You  would  not  have  been 
there  I " 

"  Some  one  must  have  been — and  this  was  God's  order- 
injr." 


254  TWO   PICTURES. 

Yes — there  was  the  one  stilling  thought.  It  was  God's 
ordering ;  and  more  and  more,  as  the  gloom  settled  down 
upon  them,  they  anchored  themselves  upon  it.  Some 
earthly  consolations  they  still  had.  Commodore  Moray's 
native  State,  New  Jersey,  voted  him,  by  its  Legislature,  the 
gift  of  a  handsome  sword.  As  he  could  not  go  to  the  cap 
ital  to  receive  it,  it  was  sent  to  him.  His  name  and  Vera 
Cruz  were  engraved  on  the  golden  handle. 

"  You  will  keep  it  for  your  children,  Hugh/'  said  the 
veteran,  as,  after  examining  it,  he  placed  it  in  his  son's 
hand. 

Congress  met,  and  in  the  speeches  of  senators  and  repre 
sentatives,  allusion  was  made  to  the  gallantry  of  Commodore 
Moray  ;  and  the  navy  department  was  questioned  why  one 
who  had  proved  himself  fitted  for  any  command  should  have 
been  displaced,  and  a  life  so  valuable  to  the  country,  im 
perilled  by  the  position  which  it  was  rumored  he  had  been 
compelled  to  assume  in  vindication  of  his  own  honor  ;  to 
which  questions  the  department  replied  somewhat  oracularly, 
yet  in  terms  of  high  compliment  to  the  wounded  Commo 
dore.  Last  of  all  there  came  a  letter  from  the  Secretary 
himself,  written  with  his  own  hand,  and  marked  private,  in 
which,  without  alluding  to  the  past,  he  complimented  Com 
modore  Moray's  gallantry,  regretted  his  wound,  and  assured 
him  the  government  as  well  as  the  people  of  the  country 
were  ready  to  do  everything  that  could  manifest  their  regard 
for  him. 

"  Then  they  will  not  refuse  a  pension  to  my  family," 
was  the  Commodore's  thought  as  he  read  these  words. 

We  have  narrated  these  testimonials,  because,  trifling  as 
they  may  seem,  they  were  very  dear  to  the  dying  officer. 
Little  do  those  who,  to  serve  some  party  end,  cast  a  slur 
upon  our  gallant  navy,  representing  the  vices  or  indolence 
of  a  few  as  characteristic  of  the  whole,  know  how  coldly  and 


TWO   PICTURES.  255 

heavily  fall  their  words  upon  the  men  who  have  looked  to 
their  country's  approbation  as  the  great  reward  for  all  their 
years  of  self-denial  and  of  hardship. 

But,  pleasant  as  they  might  be,  there  carne  an  hour  when 
these  things  sounded  like  the  far-off  murmurs  of  a  dream, 
when  the  loving  hearts  around  that  couch  would  have  given 
all  the  fame,  all  the  hope  of  fortune,  for  one  word  more 
from  the  still  lips,  one  glance  from  the  closed  eyes,  when 
the  last  tender  whispers  were  dearer  than  would  have  been 
the  loud  huzzas  of  millions.  But  all  was  over,  and  to  him 
who  lay  there  so  still  and  cold,  human  love  and  human  glory 
were  alike  nothing. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


"  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

As  she  is  troubled  with  thick  coining  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest."— SHAKSPE  ABB. 


AND  during  all  these  months  had  Hugh  been  quite  for 
getful  of  Augusta  ?  That  was  impossible.  The  love,  which 
has  its  birth  in  the  untouched  heart  of  a  boy,  which  has 
grown  with  his  growth,  and  strengthened  with  his  strength, 
which  has  given  life  to  his  hopes  and  vigor  to  his  action, 
being  the  very  mould  in  which  his  life  has  shaped  itself — 
such  a  love  is  not  forgotten  easily  even  in  one  of  ordinary 
firmness  of  character  and  tenacity  of  affection  ;  and  the  firm 
ness  of  Hugh's  character,  the  tenacity  of  his  affections,  was 
not  ordinary. 

Mr.  Seton  had  been  faithful  to  his  trust ;  he  delivered, 
what  he  supposed  a  note  from  Augusta,  safely.  Hugh 
waited  till  he  was  alone  to  open  it,  and  found  his  check  re 
turned,  without  a  word.  His  first  feeling  was  of  indigna 
tion.  "  Proud,  foolish  girl  ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  tore  the 
paper  into  bits  and  scattered  it  to  the  winds  ;  "  you  may 
live  to  feel  the  want  of  the  friend  you  have  rejected." 

For  a  few  days  this  conviction  brought  with  it  a 
certain  sense  of  satisfaction,  but  softer  feelings  were  soon 
awakened. 

"  Poor  child  !     What  does  she  know  of  the  life  that  is 


TWO   PICTURES.  257 

opening  before  her.  She  must  be  saved  from  it,  if  possi 
ble,"  and  Hugh  wrote  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  asking  his  aid  in 
accomplishing  this  object. 

"  I  owed  her  uncle  for  money  expended  on  my  collegiate 
and  professional  education.  I  always  intended  to  pay  it  as 
soon  as  I  could.  I  can  now,  and  as  he  is  not  living  to  re 
ceive  it,  it  is  justly  hers — not  only  justly,  but  legally.  Im 
press  this  upon  her,  I  entreat  you,  since  she  refuses  to  hear 
me." 

To  this  letter  Mr.  Mortimer  replied  that  he  did  not  even 
know  where  Augusta  was,  his  correspondence  with  her 
being  carried  on  through  Miss  Drayton,  whose  address  in 
Virginia  he  enclosed  to  Hugh. 

"  I  cannot  be  your  medium  of  communication  with 
Augusta,"  he  added,  "  for  she  has  declared  that  any  mention 
of  any  one,  with  whom  she  was  associated  in  the  past,  ex 
cept  Charity,  her  old  nurse,  will  at  once  put  an  end  to  our 
correspondence.  Poor  child !  Her  trial  has  been  great, 
and  with  no  true  faith  in  the  divine,  how  can  she  be  other 
wise  than  distrustful  of  the  human !  She  says,  if  she  is  ever 
to  recover  strength,  it  must  be  through  forgetfulness ;  her 
own  words  are, '  my  past  is  indeed  dead — let  it  be  buried 
out  of  my  sight.'  " 

Miss  Drayton,  to  whom  Hugh  next  applied,  had  also 
promised  not  to  mention  anything  connected  with  Augusta's 
past  life  in  her  correspondence,  but  her  womanly  ingenuity 
found  a  way  to  reconcile  her  promise  with  her  wishes.  Pain 
ful  and  inconvenient  as  travelling  was  in  her  imperfect  health, 
she  went  to  New  York  and  found  her  way  to  Mrs.  Price's 
door.  It  was  between  eleven  and  twelve  in  the  day  when 
she  rang  at  the  door.  Visitors  were  not  usually  admitted 
at  that  hour,  and  the  man  who  opened  the  door  hesitated  for 
a  moment ;  but  Miss  Drayton  was  wrapped  in  an  India 
shawl,  and  Mrs.  Price's  servants  had  been  taught  to  pay 


258  TWO   PICTURES. 

respect  to  India  shawls,  so  Miss  Dray  ton  was  admitted 
into  the  reception  room — as  a  small,  tastefully  furnished 
parlor  was  called — and  her  card  was  carried  to  Augusta, 
who  was  engaged  with  her  pupils.  The  next  moment  Mrs. 
Price,  who  was  languidly  descending  the  stairs  to  her  car 
riage,  was  astonished  beyond  the  power  of  expression  at 
being,  as  she  afterward  expressed  it,  "  literally  swept  out 
of  the  way  "  by  her  governess,  who,  haughty  to  all  others, 
had  ever  been  proudly  deferential — proudly  humble,  we 
might  have  said,  for  there  is  no  contradiction  in  the  wrords 
— in  her  manner  to  her  employer.  She  was  scarcely  less 
surprised,  when  she  looked  up  to  question  the  meaning  of 
this,  to  see  that  there  was  color  on  the  marble  cheeks,  and 
the  play  of  feeling  on  the  chiselled  features,  which,  till  then, 
seemed  to  her  so  sternly  still. 

"  Why,  Miss  Moray  !  "  she  cried,  but  cried  in  vain  ; 
Augusta  did  not  hear  her.  "  After  all,  she  is  beautiful,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  but  she  must  have  a  lesson." 

Perhaps  the  lesson  was  none  the  less  sharp  for  the  per 
ception  of  the  beauty.  She  had  seen  a  card  in  Augusta's 
hand,  and  watched  her  till  she  entered  the  reception  room. 

"  Edouard  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  reached  the  door  of  the 
reception  room,  raising  rather,  than  lowering  the  tone  of  her 
voice  as  she  spoke,  "  Comment  a-t-il  arrive  que  vous  avez 
admis  un  visiteur  a  Mademoiselle  Moray  a  cette  heure  ;  ne 
savez  vous  pas  qu'elle  est  engagee,  de  rigueur,  jusque  deux 
heures?" 

All  Mrs.  Price's  servants  were  French,  and  it  would 
have  shocked  her  to  give  an  order  in  the  English  language. 

"  Mais,  Madame—"  began  Edouard. 

"  II  n'y  a  pas  de  raison  pour  une  telle  chose.  Ne  le 
faites  jamais  encore — c'est  tout." 

Augusta  was  in  Miss  Drayton's  arms,  feeling  her  heart 
beat  with  a  sensation  unknown  to  her  for  months,  pressing 


TWO   PICTURES.  259 

her  tremulous  lips  again  and  again  to  the  hand  that  rested  on 
her  shoulder,  when  these  words  reached  her  ear.  Disengag 
ing  herself  from  Miss  Dray  ton's  arms,  she  stood  haughtily 
erect  till  the  "  c'est  tout,"  told  her  that  all  was  said ;  then 
she  stepped  toward  the  door ;  but  Miss  Dray  ton  arrested 
her,  and  passing  before  her,  presented  herself  to  Mrs.  Price 
just  as  that  lady's  velvet  mantilla  was  disappearing  through 
the  inner  door  of  the  vestibule,  while  Edouard  stood  pre 
pared  to  throw  open  the  outer  one  at  her  approach. 

"  Permit  me,  madam,  to  speak  to  you  for  one  moment, 
if  you  please,"  said  Miss  Dray  ton. 

There  was  something  in  the  very  tone  which  announced 
a  woman  of  gentle  breeding,  and  when  Mrs.  Price  had  turned 
and*  seen  Miss  Dray  ton,  there  was  a  quiet  dignity  about 
her,  aided  a  little,  perhaps,  by  "  that  love  of  a  cashmere," 
which  enforced  courtesy. 

"  You  will  pardon  my  having  called  at  such  an  unsea 
sonably  early  hour ;  I  was  impatient  to  see  my  young 
friend.  Indeed,  the  desire  to  see  her,  after  so  many  months 
of  absence,  was  the  only  incentive  to  a  winter  journey  from 
Virginia  to  New  York — a  formidable  thing  to  an  invalid  ; 
but  I  will  not  now  trespass  on  your  courtesy  and  Miss 
Moray's  time  longer  than  to  ask  if  she  will  be  at  liberty  to 
come  to  me  this  afternoon,  after  two  o'clock,  at  my  friend, 
Mrs.  Gerald  Rashleigh's  ]  " 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Mrs.  Gerald  Rashleigh  was  to 
Mrs.  Price  what  Mordecai  had  been  to  Haman.  Mrs.  Rash 
leigh's  was  the  only  desirable  circle  in  New  York  into  which 
she  had  vainly  sought  to  obtain  her  entree. 

"  And  she  has  such  delightful  foreign  society,  you  know. 
Why,  do  you  know,  she  came  to  church  one  Sunday  last 
•winter  with  an  English  lord  and  a  French  count  in  her  car 
riage  at  the  same  time,  and  one  of  them,  the  Englishman, 
I  believe,  stayed  with  her  for  several  days  ;  I  should  really 


200  TWO   PICTUKES. 

like  to  know  her,  for  the  sake  of  my  daughters."  A  degree 
of  forethought  for  her  daughters,  this,  which  was  truly  hon 
orable  to  her  maternal  love,  considering  the  very  tender 
age  of  those  daughters.  This  little  digression  will  explain 
to  the  reader  the  cause  of  that  almost  obsequious  deference 
with  which  Mrs.  Price  was  according  her  permission  to  this 
arrangement,  when  Augusta  stepped  forward,  saying,  "•  I 
shall  be  quite  at  liberty  at — "  she  glanced  at  her  watch, 
"  say  a  quarter  past  two.  1  have  some  minutes  to  make  up, 
you  know." 

"  Then  Mrs.  Rashleigh  begged  me  to  say  that  she  would 
be  here  in  her  carriage  at,  shall  I  say  a  quarter  to  three  ? 
can  you  be  ready  in  half  an  hour  1  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  but  Mrs.  Rashleigh's  coming  is  quite  unne 
cessary." 

"  She  insists  on  it,  and  she  says  you  must  take  it  as  a 
call,  \vhich  would  have  been  paid  long  ago,  if  she  had  known 
where  to  find  you." 

"  She  is  very  kind,  but  I  neither  receive  visits  nor  pay 
them,  except  to  you  ;  and  now  I  must  leave  you.  Good 
ly." 

Augusta  bent  to  receive  her  friend's  kiss. 

"  Pray  do  not  go,  Miss  Moray,"  began  Mrs.  Price, 
who  had  stood  in  the  vestibule  during  this  colloquy. 

"  Excuse  me,  madam ;  I  am  engaged,  de  rigueur,  until 
two  o'clock,"  and  with  her  usual  bow  of  proud  deference, 
she  ascended  the  stairs,  leaving  Miss  Dray  ton  still  below. 

"  Our  young  friend  is  unpeu  tropjiere"  said  Mrs.  Price, 
with  a  smiling  glance  at  the  ascending  form. 

"  She  cannot  readily  adjust  herself,  perhaps,  to  her  new 
circumstances  ?  "  said  Miss  Drayton,  kindly. 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot  say  that ;  she  makes  a  capital  governess, 
and  never  obtrudes  herself,  which  saves  a  great  deal  of 
awkwardness — I  mean  to  herself,"  said  Mrs.  Price,  hastily, 


TWO   PICTURES.  261 

suspecting  by  a  slight  tinge  on  Miss  Drayton' s  cheek  that 
she  was  not  commending  herself  to  the  friend  of  Mrs.  Ger 
ald  Rashleigh  ;  "  we  should  be  glad  to  see  more  of  her." 

Miss  Drayton  only  answered  by  a  bow,  and  moved 
toward  the  door,  beside  which  Edouard  still  stood.  lie 
opened  it,  and  both  the  ladies  passed  out.  Mrs.  Rashleigh's 
carriage  was  in  waiting  for  Miss  Drayton. 

"  Pray  come  whenever  it  suits  you  to  see  your  friend," 
said  Mrs.  Price,  as  she  turned  to  hers,  which  was  also  there. 
"  It  was  on  her  account  that  I  gave  the  order  you  may  have 
overheard  to  Edouard  j  she  dislikes  very  much  to  receive 
visits." 

Miss  Drayton  bowed  coldly  and  went  on  her  way,  quite 
as  well  au  fait  of  the  lady's  meaning  as  was  Augusta  her 
self,  and  feeling  that  her  house,  with  all  its  grandeur,  was 
not  the  place  in  which  she  would  have  chosen  that  her 
young  friend  should  commence  her  new  career. 

Mrs.  Rashleigh  was  punctual  to  the  appointed  hour. 
Augusta  was  punctual,  too,  and  presented  herself  as  soon  as 
she  heard  the  footman  inquire  for  her,  not  permitting  Mrs. 
Rashleigh  to  descend  from  her  carriage,  as  she  was  prepar 
ing  to  do. 

A  single  glance  at  Mrs.  Rashleigh,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  assist  her,  and  seated  her  beside  her  in  the  carriage, 
was  enough  to  disarm  Augusta  of  half  that  reserve  from 
which,  as  from  a  shield  of  glittering  ice,  the  obtrusive  sym 
pathy  of  the  little  minded,  or  the  insolent  assumption  of  the 
vulgar  crowd  fell  harmless.  So  far  did  this  lady  win  her 
confidence  before  they  parted  on  this  day,  that  Augusta 
promised  sometimes  to  visit  her. 

"  Will  you  let  me  call  for  you  sometimes  on  Sunday  ? 
or  are  you,  like  your  friend  Miss  Drayton,  too  much  of  a 
churchwomnn  to  go  with  me — we  are  Presbyterians — at 


262  TWO   PICTURES. 

least  the  church  we  attend  is  Presbyterian  ;  where  do  you 
go?" 

"  Nowhere,  in  New  York  ;  I  have  no  pew,  you  know," 
she  added  to  Miss  Drayton,  who  had  exclaimed  at  this. 

"  You  must  not  say  that  again,  Miss  Moray,"  said  Mrs. 
Rashleigh,  taking  her  hand  kindly  in  hers.  "  1  shall  call  for 
you  on  Sunday  next,  and  you  will  remember,  after  that,  you 
have  always  a  seat  with  us  ;  it  will  be  vacant  if  you  stay 
away,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  madam,"  and  a  faint  smile  from 
Augusta's  face  reflected  that  on  Mrs.  Rashlcigh's  ;  "  but — " 

"  But  you  cannot  go  the  Presbyterianism.  it  is  not  very 
deep  dyed.  Come  and  try  us." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  that.  I  was  accustomed  from 
childhood  to  its  simple  forms,  and  love  them  for  the  sake  of 
the  lips  from  which  I  heard  them,  though  I  feel  the  beauty 
of  the  English  service.  I  will  go  with  you,  Mrs.  Rashleigh  ; 
I  only  hesitated  for  fear  there  were  others  of  your  family 
whom  my  coming  might  annoy." 

"  Do  not  fear  ;  my  family  is — " 

"  A  unit,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  smiling. 

"  At  most  a  duet,"  replied  Mrs.  Rashleigh,  returning  the 
smile  ;  "  Mr.  Rashleigh  and  myself." 

Almost  as  soon  as  she  was  left  alone  with  Augusta, 
Miss  Drayton  began  upon  the  subject  which  had  brought 
her  to  New  York.  Augusta  had  been  expressing  her  warm 
est  gratitude  to  her  for  the  interest  which  had  induced  her 
to  travel  so  far  only  to  see  her,  and  Miss  Drayton  replied, 
"  There  is  no  one  in  the  world,  except  my  own  Annie,  whom 
1  would  go  farther  to  see ;  and  yet,  I  scarcely  deserve  all 
the  gratitude  you  are  giving  me,  for  I  should  have  waited 
till  the  winter  was  over  for  my  visit  to  you,  had  I  not  hoped 
to  do  you  an  important  service  by  coming." 

"  You  have  done  me  an  important  service  ;  I  had  begun 


TWO   PICTURES.  263 

to  doubt  whether  there  was  such  a  thing  as  pleasure  in  the 
world,  and  to-day  I  have  felt  it." 

"  My  poor  child !  "  and  Miss  Drayton  lifted  her  eyes, 
full  of  a  tender  pity  that  made  them  beautiful,  to  the  face 
that  was  bending  over  her  as  she  lay  upon  her  couch  ;  "  have 
you  seen  no  pleasure  around  you  in  your  new  home  ?  " 

"  Much  of  what  they  call  pleasure,  for  I  often  am  obliged 
to  join  their  evening  parties,  to  minister  to  their  enjoyment ; 
but  my  eyes  have  been  touched  with  the  magic  ointment ;  I 
see  now  how  little  truth  there  is  in  all  that  charmed  me 
so  much  but  a  year  ago." 

"  Perhaps,  my  dear,  there  was  more  truth  than  you  are 
now  disposed  to  think  ;  the  position  you  looked  from  then, 
and  that  at  which  you  stand  now,  are  extremes  both  ;  nei 
ther,  probably,  would  give  you  a  view  that  was  quite  true." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  Augusta,  listlessly. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  which  I  hope  may  in 
troduce  you  to  a  better  point  of  view  than  either ;  it  will,  at 
any  rate,  prove  to  you  that  the  world  is  not  destitute  of 
truth  and  honesty.  I  would  have  written  to  you  about  it, 
but  it  concerns  one  of  those  of  whom  you  had  forbidden 
me—" 

"  To  write  or  to  speak  equally ;  you  must  excuse  me, 
Miss  Drayton,  if  I  say  it  is  cruel  thus  to  disturb  my  hardly- 
won  equanimity,"  and  Augusta  rose,  trembling  with  agita 
tion,  and  turned  as  if  to  leave  her  friend. 

Miss  Drayton  also  rose. 

"  Augusta,"  she  said,  and  her  hands  were  outstretched 
and  her  eyes  humid  with  tenderness,  "you  will  not  leave 
me — leave  me  in  anger,  when  I  have  come  so  far,  through 
such  difficulties,  to  visit  you  ?  " 

Augusta  stood  still,  but  did  not  return  to  her  seat. 

"  Come  back,  dear  Augusta  ;  sit  down,  and  hear  me." 

Miss  Drayton  sank  back,  with  an  exhausted  look,  on  her 


264:  TWO    PICTURES. 

couch,  and  pointed  to  the  chair  at  her  side,  from  which 
Augusta  had  risen ;  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  gesture, 
and  placed  herself  in  one  at  a  greater  distance. 

"  Then  I  must  come  to  you,"  and  Miss  Drayton  was 
rising ;  but  Augusta  took  the  seat  she  had  indicated,  saying, 
coldly,  "  I  will  not  put  you  to  that  trouble." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  gently  ; 
"  and  now,  if  you  will  read  that  letter,  you  will  see  that  I 
could  not  fail  to  communicate  its  contents  to  you." 

Augusta  took  the  letter  and  glanced  at  the  address.  It 
was  in  the  well-known  handwriting  of  Hugh.  She  laid  it 
down. 

"  I  will  not  read  it,"  she  said,  passionately  ;  "  it  is  cruel, 
I  say  again,  to  persecute  me  thus  ;  they  are  happy ;  let  mo, 
at  least,  enjoy  such  peace  as  they  have  left  me." 

"  Augusta,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  "  this  letter  is  written 
by  one  who,  as  far  as  I  know,  has  committed  no  offence 
against  you ;  and  if  you  knew  where  it  was  written,  you 
would  not  call  him  happy." 

Augusta  glanced  at  Miss  Drayton  and  then  at  the 
letter. 

"  Where  was  it  written  ?  "  she  asked,  slowly,  as  if  the 
words  dropped  from  her  without  any  effort  of  her  will. 

"  Beside  his  father's  dying  bed." 

"  His  father's  dying  bed  1  "  in  the  same  way,  as  if  but 
half  conscious  that  she  spoke ;  then,  with  sudden  force, 
"  Commodore  Moray's  dying  bed  1 " 

"  Even  so  ;  did  you  not  know  he  had  been  dangerously 
wounded  in  that  battle  at  Vera  Cruz  ?  " 

"  I  saw  the  pictures,  and  I  heard  people  say  he  had  come 
home  wounded  ;  but — dangerously — dying — "  Augusta's 
voice  altered. 

"  It  is  a  very  sad  affair  altogether ;  people  blame  the 
Government  very  much.  They  superseded  him  just  on  the 


TWO   PICTURES. 


265 


eve  of  the  battle,  when  he  had  made  all  the  preparations  for 
it.  I  have  heard  that  some  of  his  friends  urged  him  to  re 
tain  the  command  till  after  the  battle,  which,  as  the  oldest 
Commodore  on  the  station,  he  was  entitled  to  do ;  but  he  is 
very  punctilious,  and  would  not  palter  with  what  he  thought 
his  duty  ;  so  he  resigned  the  command  of  the  fleet,  but  took 
the  little  schooner  that  had  been  offered  him  for  his  return 
home,  into  the  very  thickest  of  the  fight.  She  was  not  built 
for  a  war  vessel,  they  say,  so  the  helmsman  was  not  suffi 
ciently  protected,  and  he  took  the  helm  himself.  Every  one 
admired  his  gallantry,  though  some  think  he  was  wrong  to 
expose  himself  so  madly  ;  the  wonder  is,  he  was  not  killed 
immediately.  lie  was  wounded  in  the  thigh  and  in  the  arm 
very  badly." 

Miss  Drayton  paused,  for  Augusta  had  grown  very 
pale;  but  she  faltered  out,  "Tell  me  all;  was  Hugh 
there  ?  " 

"  He  was,  for  he  had  resisted  all  his  father's  persuasions 
to  leave  him,  and  a  young  relation  of  mine  who  was  on 
board,  and  from  whom  I  had  some  particulars  not  men 
tioned  in  the  papers,  says  he  seemed  entirely  to  forget  him 
self  after  his  father  was  wounded,  and  exposed  himself  al 
most  as  madly  as  the  Commodore  had  done,  but  the  worst 
of  the  danger  was  over  then." 

''•  And  Commodore  Moray  ?  " 

"  Had  his  leg  amputated  and  returned  home  to  die 
among  those but,  my  child,  you  are  fainting  !  " 

Augusta's  pale  lips  moved  to  say  no,  but  the  room  was 
reeling,  the  air  was  darkened,  her  eyes  closed,  and  with  a 
faint  sob,  she  sank  back  upon  the  cushions  of  the  large  chair 
in  which  she  sat.  Miss  Drayton  threw  some  water  into  her 
face  from  a  goblet  that  stood  beside  her,  and  with  a  con 
vulsive  gasp,  life  came  back — life  and  consciousness — and 


206  TWO  PICTURES. 

dropping  her  face  into  her  hands,  she  wept  with  passionate 
emotion. 

"What  strange  revelations  of  our  own  nature  do  we  find 
in  those  moments  when  its  depths  are  stirred.  With  what 
rapidity  does  the  past  rush  upon  us.  It  can  scarcely  be  said 
that  we  recall  it.  It  lives,  and  we  live  in  it,  though  for 
years  we  may  have  thought  it  dead  and  buried.  We  live  in 
it,  not  as  we  once  did,  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour,  but 
all  its  hours  seem  concentrated  into  one  flash  of  full,  perfect 
life — a  life  which  is  an  agony,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow.  Is 
it  thus  that  in  the  future  state  of  being,  the  life  of  earth  is 
to  flash  on  our  consciousness,  kindling  in  the  hearts  of  the 
redeemed  a  more  intense  fervor  of  grateful  love,  and  adding 
keener  tortures  to  the  imperishable  regrets  of  those  who  re 
jected  the  only  refuge  for  sinful  man  ? 

To  Augusta,  at  that  moment,  little  things — at  least  they 
seemed  little  when  they  were  passing — words,  looks,  full  of 
the  tender,  gentle,  chivalrous,  yet  childlike  character  of  her 
old  friend,  were  distinctly  present ; — his  joy  at  the  oppor 
tunity  given  by  the  command  of  the  squadron  to  show  what 
was  in  him — not  for  his  own  vain  glory,  but  for  the  justifi 
cation  of  those  who  loved  and  confided  in  him.  And  this 
squadron  she  had  taken  some  pride  in  believing  had  been 
her  gift,  a  fatal  gift.  And  he  would  die  without  her  seeing 
him  ;  he  had  loved  her,  she  knew.  She  had  thought  little 
of  it  through  all  those  weeks  and  months  when  she  had  shut 
herself  up  in  proud  isolation,  saying,  "  They  do  not  care  for 
me,  neither  will  I  care  for  them." 

Now  she  knew  that  he  had  cared  very  tenderly  for  her ; 
she  had  had  it  in  her  power  to  add  a  pleasure  or  a  pain  to 
the  life  which  was  so  rapidly  passing  away,  and  she  had 
chosen  to  add  the  pain.  And  this  she  had  done  to  one  who 
had  been  so  unoffending !  Suppose  Hugh  had  been  cruel — 
had  sported  with  her  love,  and  trampled  on  her  pride — was 


TWO  PICTURES.  267 

this  gentle  and  noble  heart  to  be  slighted  for  Hugh's  fault  ? 
And  now,  when  she  saw  this  plainly,  when  for  one  look  of 
tender  forgiveness — one  gentle  "  My  child,"  one  word  of 
guidance  from  those  wise  and  loving  lips,  she  would  have 
given  the  best  year  of  her  future  life,  she  heard  the  fatal 
words,  "  He  is  dying,"  and  that  wail  "  It  is  too  late  !  " — • 
earth's  bitterest  cry — went  up  from  her  full  heart. 

"  But  is  it  too  late  ?  "  she  said,  with  gasping  breath,  un 
covering  her  pale  face,  and  turning  her  tear-swollen  eyes  on 
Miss  Dray  ton.  "  Is  it  not  possible  for  me  to  see  him  yet  ?  " 
Then,  as  pride,  too  strong  to  be  wholly  subdued,  even  by 
that  agony,  awoke,  she  added,  "  If  I  was  sure  he  would  see 
me  ;  but,  perhaps,  he  has  forgotten  me ;  he  would  hardly 
think  of  any  at  such  a  time,  but  those  most  tenderly 
beloved." 

"  Read  your  letter,  my  dear,  and  you  will  see,"  said 
Miss  Dray  ton. 

The  letter,  Hugh's  letter,  was  in  her  hand ;  the  color 
flushed  to  her  pale  cheek  as  she  opened  it — not  "  the  blush 
to  wooers  dear," — but  the  angry  flush  of  pride,  which  ex 
pected  again  to  be  stung  by  the  indelicate  offer  of  money  as 
of  alms  to  a  beggar.  She  read  : 

ELIZACETIITOTVN,  Nov.  23d,  18 — . 

DEAR  Miss  DRAYTON: 

When  you  know  that  I  write  beside  what  I  fear  to  be  my 
father's  dying  bed,  you  will  readily  believe  that  no  common 
interest  could  claim  a  thought,  or  win  me  for  one  moment 
from  the  duties  that  have  become  our  dearest  solace.  That 
you  will  sympathize  with  us  in  our  dread  of  a  sorrow  whose 
bitterness  can  be  in  some  degree  appreciated  by  all  who  had 
any  knowledge  of  him,  I  am  quite  sure,  from  my  past  ex 
perience  of  your  kindness ;  but  not  even  to  claim  this  sym 
pathy,  dear  as  it  would  be  to  me,  could  I  have  written  at 
this  time.  You  will  see,  then,  the  force  of  the  feeling  which 


2G8  TWO   PICTURES. 

prompts  this  appeal  to  you,  and  you  will  not  refuse  to  help 
me  if  you  can.  Mr.  Mortimer,  from  whom  1  have  just 
heard,  tells  me  that  you  only  know  where  Miss  Moray  is. 
That  you  do  know  is  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  us  all — to 
none  more  than  to  my  father.  He  loves  her  very  tenderly, 
and  has  never  ceased  to  mourn  the  strange  circumstances 
that  have  acted  so  fatally  upon  her  finely-strung  nature, 
making  her  forgetful  of  the  suffering  she  is  inflicting  upon 
all  who  love  her.  Knowing  her  as  you  do — knowing  how, 
amid  all  the  faults  of  ungoverned  impulse,  and  an  almost 
insane  pride — her  innate  nobleness  manifests  itself  in  every 
movement  of  her  life,  making  us  almost  forgetful  in  the 
deeper  feeling  it  excites,  of  her  unrivalled  personal  beauty, 
and  of  the  witchery  of  her  manner,  you  will  not  wonder  that 
we,  to  whom  she  has  been  as  a  daughter  or  sister  from  her 
childhood,  cherish  the  tenderest  regard  for  her,  and  cannot 
rest  until  we  know  something  of  her  present  condition.  1 
have  sad  reason  to  know  that  I  have  in  some  way  excited 
her  displeasure ;  but  I  feel  sure  that  if  she  knew  my  father's 
desire  to  see  her,  she  could  not  in  his  present  state  refuse  to 
gratify  him  ;  he  says  this  is  his  only  unsatisfied  wish." 

"  I  must  go,"  cried  Augusta,  looking  wildly  around  her, 
when  she  had  read  thus  far ;  "  [  must  go  to  him." 

"  Not  to-night,  my  dear,  not  to-night,"  said  Miss  Dray- 
ton,  coming  to  her  as  she  began  to  cloak  herself  for  her  in 
tended  journey  ;  "  see,  it  is  already  growing  dusky." 

"  Do  not  stop  me,  I  have  not  a  minute  to  spare ;  see," — 
pointing  to  the  clock  on  the  mantlepicce, — "  it  is  half  past 
four  ;  the  last  train  leaves  at  five." 

"  But  listen,  my  dear  child,  you  will  be  too  late ;  you 
cannot  go  alone  at  this  hour  ;  besides,  you  have  no  money 
with  you,"  said  Miss  Dray  ton,  glad  of  any  excuse  that 
might  stop  her. 

"  That  is  true,"  exclaimed  Augusta,  as  she  put  her  hand 
in  her  pocket ;  "  you  must  lend  me  some." 


TWO   PICTURES.  269 

"  I  do  riot  think  I  can  ;  to-morrow  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  No — no  ;  if  you  cannot  lend  me,  I  must  beg  my  way  ; 
to-morrow  will  be  too  late  ;  he  wants  to  see  me !  Oh,  Miss 
Drayton,  why  did  you  not  come  sooner  ?  Why  not  send 
the  letter  1  " 

"  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could,  darling  ;  and  I  feared  to 
send  it,  lest  you  should  send  it  back  and  withdraw  yourself 
from  me  too." 

Augusta  groaned ;  it  was  all  her  own  fault.  How  poor 
and  mean  seemed  now  that  isolation  which  pride  had  coun 
selled  !  She  had  thought  only  of  herself.  She  might  suffer, 
she  had  said,  but  she  would  prove  that  she  could  live  with 
out  them.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  till  now  that  they 
might  need  her  ministrations — that  she  was  resigning  the 
blessed  privilege  of  soothing  as  well  as  of  being  soothed,  of 
serving  as  well  as  of  being  served.  She  had  steadily  con 
tinued  to  prepare  herself  for  going  out  in  spite  of  Miss 
Drayton's  remonstrances,  and  was  now  half  way  down 
stairs,  followed  by  Miss  Drayton. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Miss  Moray  ?  Surely  you  will 
not  leave  us  before  dinner ;  we  dine  at  five,"  cried  Mrs. 
Rashleigh,  who  was  coming  up  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

Augusta  turned  her  pale  face  toward  her,  and  tried  to 
speak  ;  but  the  voice  would  not  come. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Rashleigh,  turning 
to  Miss  Drayton. 

"  She  insists  on  going  to  Elizabethtown  to-night,  to  see 
Commodore  Moray  ;  she  had  not  heard  of  his  illness  be 
fore." 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Moray,  you  cannot  go  to-night ; 
there  is  a  snow  storm  coming  on — see — "  pointing  to  the 
window — "  to-morrow — " 

"  It  will  be  too  late  ;  I  must  go." 

"  Then  John  shall  drive  you  to  the  boat.    Run,  Florine, 


270  TWO   PICTURES. 

tell  John  to  bring  the  carriage  to  the  door  again  and  drive 
Miss  Moray  to  the  steamboat  for  Jersey  City  ;  she  \vill 
hardly  have  time  for  the  train  now." 

The  carriage,  in  which  Mrs.  Rashleigh  had  just  returned 
from  a  visit  of  charity,  was  driven  to  the  door,  and  Augusta 
ascended  it,  without  a  word  of  thanks  for  the  kindness  thus 
extended  to  her.  Poor  child  !  her  heart  was  full  of  one 
thought :  Would  she  be  in  time  1  Miss  Dray  ton  thrust  her 
purse  into  the  hand  that  continued  to  grasp  the  letter  with 
an  almost  convulsive  tenacity. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  gone  with  her  ;  but  I  was  afraid  I 
should  only  add  to  their  troubles,"  said  Miss  Drayton,  as 
she  shivered  at  the  chill  air  of  the  damp  November  evening, 
and  drew  her  shawl  more  closely  around  her. 

It  was  dreary,  indeed  ;  a  red  glow  in  the  Avest  was  all 
that  relieved  the  dull,  leaden  line  of  the  sky.  Through  the 
thick  air  a  few  snowfiakes  flew,  presaging  the  night,  and 
the  wind  already  swept  in  gusts  through  the  streets  of  the 
city,  and  lashed  the  darkened  waters  of  the  bay  into  angry 
waves.  Augusta  saw  nothing  of  all  this,  and  if  she  heard 
the  wind,  it  was  but  to  wish  that  it  would  sweep  her  onward 
on  its  wings  more  rapidly  than  boat  or  car  could  bear  her. 
It  was  not  only  that  her  affections  had  been  touched  at  the 
thought  of  her  friend,  her  "  father,"  as  she  had  sometimes 
called  him  in  the  intimacy  of  their  intercourse,  bearing  her 
on  his  heart,  suffering  for  her,  in  the  midst  of  his  own  great 
agony  ;  it  was  not  only  that  bitterest  of  all  thoughts,  that 
he  should  die  with  an  unsatisfied  desire  to  which  she  could 
have  given  its  fulfilment — her  trouble  lay  deeper  than  this. 
The  depths  of  conscience  had  been  stirred,  and  its  waves 
were  overflowing  her  soul.  There  was  a  voice  within  her, 
saying,  "  You  have  chosen  your  way,  and  you  must  walk  in 
it ;  you  separated  yourself  from  them,  and  God  will  sepa 
rate  them  from  you.  He  will  die  without  your  seeing  him, 


TWO   PICTURES.  271 

and  they  will  remember  you  only  as  the  troubler  of  his 
peace — the  cruel  one  who  added  another  pang  to  those 
under  which  he  was  already  sinking." 

"  How  exaggerated  ! "  does  the  reader  exclaim.  True, 
for  passion  is  ever  an  exaggerator,  and  Augusta  Moray  was 
still  the  slave  of  passion  ;  nothing  was  changed  but  the  di 
rection  in  which  it  propelled. 

She  reached  the  boat  in  season,  and  in  less  than  two 
hours  from  the  time  she  had  left  Mrs.  Rashleigh's  door, 
she  was  set  down  in  Elizabethtown. 

"  Did  you  see  that  tall  woman  in  black  that  got  out  just 
now  1 "  asked  the  conductor,  of  a  gentleman  in  the  car. 

"  No  ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  seemed  sort  o'  queer  to  me,  and  I  thought 
maybe  you  noticed  her,  as  she  sot  just  before  you,  and  I 
was  going  to  ask  if  you  thought  she  was  crazy." 

"  I  was  reading  my  paper,  and  did  not  see  her ;  but 
what  was  there  queer  about  her  1  " 

"  Why,  she  never  seemed  to  hear  me  when  I  asked  for 
her  ticket ;  I  had  to  take  it  out  of  her  hand,  and  I  don't 
think  she  knew  it  then  ;  and  just  now  the  horses  in  a  car 
riage  were  jumping  about  so  the  driver  could  hardly  hold 
them  in,  and  she  walked  right  straight  under  their  heads ; 
and  though  the  driver  hallooed  at  her  and  cursed  her,  and 
the  people  ran  to  her  to  pull  her  away,  she  didn't  walk  a 
bit  the  faster ;  the  fact  is,  I  don't  think  she  heard  the  hub 
bub." 

"  And  did  she  get  safely  by  1 " 

"  Yes  ;  but  if  she  wasn't  such  a  young  lady,  and  a  pretty 
nice  looking  one,  too,  I'd  think  she  was  drunk,  or  crazy." 

"  Pretty  people  do  get  drunk  or  go  crazy  sometimes, 
and  young  ones  too,"  said  the  gentleman,  carelessly,  as  he 
returned  to  his  paper. 

In  the  meantime  Augusta,  absorbed  as  she  had  been  rep- 


272  TWO  PICTURES. 

resented  by  the  conductor,  was  pursuing  her  way  toward 
the  well-known  house  where  the  happiest  hours  of  her  life 
had  been  spent.  Her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  to  hurry  on  with  quicker  beats,  as  through 
the  thickening  dusk  and  the  falling  snowflakcs  she  caught  the 
first  view  of  its  dimly-defined  outline. 

"  If  he  still  lives,  I  shall  feel  that  I  am  forgiven,  and  may 
yet  hope,"  was  the  thought  that  flashed  upon  her  at  that 
moment. 

She  drew  near.  There  was  no  bright  light  streaming 
out  upon  the  stormy  night.  She  entered  the  porch.  No 
cheerful  voices,  as  of  old,  were  heard  within.  With  a 
trembling  hand  she  touched  the  bell,  but  it  gave  no  sound. 
Again  she  tried,  throwing  into  the  effort  more  power  than 
was  needed.  The  sharp,  clear  ring  startled  her,  and  made 
her  hold  her  breath  in  alarm.  No  one  came  ;  yet  she  wait 
ed  long  before  she  dared  ring  again.  "When  siie  did,  it  was 
with  a  lighter  touch,  yet  it  was  more  effectual.  A  dim  light 
was  seen  through  the  glasses  at  the  side,  the  key  turned  in 
the  lock,  the  door  opened,  and  Augusta,  trembling  with  cold 
and  fear,  looked  once  more  upon  the  familiar  objects  in  the 
hall.  She  turned  to  the  face  of  the  servant  who  had  opened 
the  door  ;  it  was  the  face  of  a  stranger ;  she  tried  to  utter 
the  question  she  had  come  so  far  to  ask,  but  her  trembling 
lips  refused  to  shape  the  words  ;  she  raised  her  heavy  crape 
veil,  and  the  servant  afterward  said, '"She  was  jist  that 
skeered,  she  was  ready  to  let  the  lamp  fall,  when  she  seed 
sich  a  white  face,  with  the  two  eyes  a  starin'  so." 

"  Please,  ma'am,  would  you  tell  me  what  you  want,  for 
we  haven't  got  no  time  to  spare,  seein'  the  poor  Commo 
dore's  jist  after  dying." 

"  Dying — then  he  is  not  dead  !  "  and  Augusta  stepped 
forward. 

"  And  sure,  ma'am,  he  is  dead  enough,  though  it  hasn't 


TWO   PICTURES.  273 

been  for  long,  an'  I'd  ask  you  in,  ma'am,  but  the  missus  an' 
Mister  Hugh  an'  all,  is  more  dead  than  alive,  an'  couldn't 
see  no  strangers." 

Augusta  turned  silently  away.  It  was  true,  she  was  a 
stranger — made  so  by  her  own  act.  What  place  had  she 
within  their  home  at  such  a  time  ?  Through  the  increasing 
storm  and  the  now  almost  rayless  night  she  made  her  way 
with  some  difficulty  back  to  the  railroad  station.  She  could 
have  wished  the  difficulties  greater ;  the  struggle  with  them 
seemed  to  dull  somewhat  the  sharp  pain  in  her  head,  and 
to  interrupt  that  never  ceasing  wail,  "  Too  late ;  too  late  J  " 

Arrived  at  the  depot,  Augusta  found  a  seat  in  its  darkest 
corner,  where  she  might  await  the  coming  in  of  the  return 
train.  This  seat  was  behind  the  stove,  whose  red  hot  sur 
face  sent  out  the  smell  of  burning  iron  through  the  room, 
and  scorched,  with  almost  intolerable  heat,  the  face  of  Augus 
ta,  and  that  part  of  her  person  which  was  presented  to  it, 
while  on  the  back  of  her  neck  and  shoulders  there  poured  a 
stream  of  cold,  damp  air  from  the  window  behind  her,  in 
which  there  was  a  broken  pane  of  glass.  Unconscious  of 
these  physical  ills,  or  if  she  was  conscious  of  them,  too  much 
absorbed  in  more  intolerable  pain  to  think  of  relieving  her 
self  from  them,  Augusta  sat,  while  hour  after  hour  of  that 
inclement  night  passed  heavily  away.  The  cars  were  due  at 
a  quarter  before  nine,  but  nine,  ten,  struck,  and  still  they 
came  not.  At  length  the  shrill  whistle  was  heard,  and  a 
red,  fiery  light  shot  past  the  windows  of  the  depot.'  People 
rose  and  hurried  out,  and  Augusta  rose  too  and  followed  them 
with  a  sort  of  automaton  movement ;  they  entered  a  car, 
and  so  did  she ;  again  the  steam  whistle  shrieked,  and  they 
were  in  motion.  A  few  minutes  after,  the  conductor  passed 
around.  It  was  the  same  who  had  gone  up  on  the  last  train, 
as  far  as  New  Brunswick,  and  was  now  returning  to  Jersey 
City,  where  he  resided.  He  came  to  Augusta,  and  iinmedi- 


274  TWO   riCTUKES. 

ately  recognized  her  as  the  woman  who  had  acted  "  sort  o' 
queer  "  on  his  up  trip. 

,  "  Ticket,  ma'am,"  he  said,  touching  her  on  the  arm,  fur 
she  did  not  notice  him,  and  he  supposed  her  to  be  asleep. 

There  was  no  answer  to  his  appeal,  no  apparent  con 
sciousness  of  it,  except  that  she  moved  slightly,  as  if  to  es 
cape  his  touch.  lie  raised  his  lantern  and  cast  its  light  di 
rectly  upon  the  face  of  ghastly  white,  which  had  so  alarmed 
the  servant  at  Mrs.  Moray's.  Augusta's  eyes  closed  to  shut 
out  the  light,  which  it  gave  her  intolerable  pain  to  look  at, 
and  she  murmured  "  Too  late  !  too  late  !  " 

"  Well,  we  was  late  ! — there  was  a  smash  up  this  morn 
ing  just  above  Trenton,  and  the  cars  was  a  long  time  getting 
by.  Ticket,  ma'am,  or," — meeting  the  bewildered  expres 
sion  of  her  eyes,  which  were  at  last  turned  upon  him — "  if 
you  haven't  a  ticket,  I'll  take  the  money." 

The  last  word  seemed  to  carry  some  meaning  to  her 
mind,  for  she  handed  him  her  purse;  but  when,  setting 
down  his  light,  he  had  taken  from  it  the  amount  of  her  pas 
sage,  and  would  have  returned  it,  he  found  some  difficulty 
in  making  her  take  it. 

Those  who  have  travelled  in  the  United  States  cannot 
have  failed  to  perceive  the  kindness  with  which  the  conduc 
tors  of  public  carriages  watch  over  the  comfort  of  ladies  who, 
travelling  without  a  gentleman,  seem  peculiarly  dependent 
on  their  care ;  especially  is  this  the  case  when  age  or  illness 
increases  this  dependence.  The  conductor  of  the  car  in 
which  Augusta  Moray  was  returning  to  New  York  was  no 
exception  to  this  honorable  class,  and  when  they  reached 
Jersey  City,  he  came  to  see  whether  his  interesting  pas 
senger  needed  his  aid.  He  found  that  she  had  not  risen 
from  her  seat,  though  the  car  was  already  nearly  empty. 

"  We're  to  Jersey  City  now,  ma'am,  and  if  you  want  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  275 

cross,  you'd  better  be  quick,  for  it's  so  late  the  boat  won't 
wait  longj  I'm  thinking." 

He  received  no  distinct  answer,  but  hearing  a  muttering 
sound,  he  bent  down  his  head  and  heard :  "  Too  late !  too 
late !  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  don't  think  it's  too  late  if  you'll  go  at 
once,  and  I'll  help  you." 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand  to  draw  it  through  his  arm, 
but  she  drew  it  quickly  away  with  a  little  cry,  saying,  "  You 
shall  not  force  me  away  till  I  have  seen  him.  I  do  not  be 
lieve  he  is  dead ;  she  says  so  because  she  is  afraid  I  shall 
see  Hugh." 

Again  he  flashed  the  light  of  his  lantern  on  her  face.  It 
was  no  longer  pale,  fever  burned  on  her  cheeks  and  spar 
kled  in  her  eyes. 

"  Now,  my  goodness  !  what  am  I  to  do,  I  wonder  1  I 
can't  leave  the  poor  thing  here,  that's  certain  ;  if  I  could  get 
her  to  the  boat,  it  wouldn't  be  no  better.  Suppose  I  was  to 
take  her  to  the  hotel.  She'd  be  a  deal  more  comfortable  in 
that  nice,  quiet  room  that  Jean's  just  got  ready  for  her  sis 
ter,  and  I  know  Jean  would  tell  me  I  ought  to  carry  her 
there.  It  will  only  be  for  one  night,  for  I  dare  say  to-mor 
row,  when  the  fever's  off,  she'll  tell  us  where  she  lives,  and 
I'll  send  her  home,  or  Jean  will  go  with  her  herself;  and 
her  clothes  are  handsome,  and  she's  got  a  watch ;  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  her  friends  are  rich ;  it  may  be  a  good  piece  of 
work  for  me,  after  all." 

The  first  part  of  this  soliloquy  was  spoken — the  next  was 
thought  only  ;  and  so,  with  these  mingled  motives  of  gen 
erous  kindness  and  self-interest,  he  assumed  the  care  of  Au 
gusta,  or,  should  we  not  rather  say,  accepted  it  from  the 
Providence  which  had  seemed  so  evidently  to  lay  it  upon 
him? 

Hiram  Brown,  the  name  of  the  conductor,  did  not  want 


276  TWO   PICTURES. 

for  ready  wit,  and  after  listening  for  a  moment  to  Augusta's 
ravings,  he  said,  in  a  kind,  friendly  tone,  "  Come  with  me, 
and  you  shall  see  him.  Poor  thing !  "  he  added,  as  her 
large,  melancholy  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  face,  "  I  am  sorry 
for  you." 

If  she  did  not  understand  the  words,  she  did  the  tone  and 
the  look,  for  they  were  of  that  universal  language  of  human 
ity  which  is  the  first  and  the  last  to  be  comprehended  by 
us ;  and  when  again  he  said,  "  Come  with  me,  and  you  shall 
see  him,"  she  arose,  took  his  offered  arm,  and  accompanied 
him  without  a  word.  They  had  but  a  few  steps  to  go,  and 
he  thought  it  best  not  to  call  a  carriage,  as  she  might  be 
unwilling  to  enter  it ;  so  he  led  her  at  once  to  the  little 
white  cottage,  containing  only  two  rooms  below  and  two 
above,  in  the  clean,  bright  kitchen  of  which  sat  his  Jean, 
impatiently  expecting  him.  The  delay  in  the  arrival  of  the 
train  had  caused  cruel  suffering  to  her  faithful  heart ;  but 
she  had  heard  the  whistle  which  announced  its  coming,  had 
piled  more  wood  upon  the  warm,  clean  cooking  stove,  had 
placed  upon  it  again  the  tin  coffee  pot,  the  beefsteak,  and  the 
covered  dish  of  milk  toast,  which  had  been  drawn  away 
some  time  before,  in  despair  of  his  return.  These  things 
done,  she  had  only  to  listen  for  the  well-known  step.  It 
came  at  length,  but  not  till  she  had  begun  to  fear  again,  and 
then  it  was  slower  than  its  wont.  "  Could  he  have  been 
hurt  ?  " 

The  door  was  opened  before  he  reached  it,  and  Jean 
peered  forth  into  the  darkness.  She  could  just  see  ap 
proaching  forms ;  one  was  his,  certainly  ;  she  knew  the 
movement ;  who  was  the  other  1 

"  Hiram,  who've  you  got  there  ?  "  called  Jean. 

Hiram  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  as  they  came 
nearer,  Jean  perceived,  not  altogether  with  satisfaction,  that 
it  was  &  woman  who  leaned  upon  his  arm  ;  but  before  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  277 

dissatisfaction  could  shape  itself  into  word  or  action,  Hiram 

(entered,  and  indicating  by  a  gesture  that  she  must  not  speak, 
led  the  lady  through  the  dark  front  room,  and  placed  her  in 
Jean's  own  rocking  chair  by  the  fire.  This  done,  ne  turned 
to  Jean,  and  before  he  had  said  a  word,  the  little  cloud  had 
left  her  brow,  chased  away  by  his  close  embrace  and  his 
warm  kiss,  and  when  he  said,  "  The  poor  lady  is  very  ill, 
I'm  afraid,  Jean  ;  the  fever's  got  in  her  head,  and  she 
couldn't  tell  rightly  where  she'  was  to  go  nor  nothing ;  I 
know'd  you'd  say  I  ought  to  bring  her  here,  and  so  I  did." 

Ah  Jean  !  Well  may  your  brown  cheek  glow  so  bright 
ly.  Let  others  talk  of  woman's  rights  as  they  will,  you 
know  that  you  are  enjoying  woman's  highest  privilege,  and 
exercising  her  noblest  duty,  while  you  are  thus  keeping  a 
human  soul  true  to  the  best  instincts  which  God  has  im 
planted  within  it. 

"  She  thinks  she's  going  to  see  somebody  ;  'twas  the 
only  way  I  could  get  her  along,"  said  Hiram,  in  further  ex 
planation  ;  "  I  don't  know  how  you'll  get  her  to  bed  now." 

Augusta's  mutterings  had  ceased  while  in  the  open  air, 
which  had  probably  rendered  her  circulation  less  rapid. 
She  still  continued  quiet,  though  her  eyes  were  kindling, 
and  her  cheeks  flushing  again  with  fever. 

"  Will  you  come  up  stairs  to  bed,  ma'am?  "  asked  Jean, 
with  a  voice  and  look  as  soft  as  pity  could  make  them. 

"  Can  I  not  see  him  ?     Is  it  too  late  ?  "  asked  Augusta. 

"  Too  late  to-night,  ma'am,"  said  Jean,  with  a  woman's 
ready  tact.  "  He'll  be  asleep  now,  and  you  wouldn't  want 
to  wake  him  ;  but  to-morrow  morning,  right  early,  you'll 
see  him." 

"  Then  he  isn't  dead.  I  knew  it  could  not  be  ;  he  would 
not  die,  you  know,  till  he  had  seen  me ;  it  was  his  only  un- 
gratified  wish." 

"  Then  come,  ma'am  ;  I'll  show  you  to  your  room  ;  and 


278  TWO   PICTURES. 

to-morrow  morning,  when  he's  awake,  you'll  see  him." 
Jean  took  the  burning  hand  of  her  guest  as  she  spoke,  and 
Augusta  followed  her  without  any  apparent  reluctance  to 
the  tidy  Tittle  room  prepared  for  the  young  sister,  who  was 
coming  from  her  distant  Western  home  to  spend  the  Christ 
mas  aud  New  Year  with  Jean.  All  was  ready  for  her,  even 
to  the  little  grate  filled  with  coal,  and  the  box  of  light  kind 
ling  wood  beside  it.  We  are  not  sure  that  there  was  not  a 
little  regret  in  Jean's  heart  as  she  touched  the  kindling  be 
low  the  coal  with  the  flatne  of  the  lamp  she  had  brought  up, 
and  saw  the  ruddy  flame  spring  up,  thinking  that  the  bright 
polish  would  be  burned  off  the  grate  before  Carrie  saw  it. 
It  -was  a  sacrifice,  but  the  sacrifice  was  made.  There  was  a 
little  rocking  chair  in  this  room  too,  and  Augusta  was  seated 
in  it,  while  Jean  untied  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  laid  them 
aside. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is  !  "  thought  Jean,  as  she  saw  her 
thus  unveiled.  Augusta's  comb  had  been  drawn  out  in  tak 
ing  off  her  bonnet,  and  her  dark  hair  fell  in  thick  waving 
tresses  over  her  face  and  shoulders.  This  seemed  to  rouse 
her  for  a  moment.  She  gathered  the  hair  up  as  she  was 
accustomed  to  do,  and  asked  for  her  comb.  The  familiar 
action  seemed  in  some  degree  to  restore  her  to  conscious 
ness.  She  looked  around  her  with  surprise,  regarded  Jean 
for  a  moment  earnestly,  and  then  said,  with  a  little  trepida 
tion,  ".  Who  are  you  ?  and  where  am  I?  " 

"  You  didn't  seem  well  in  the  cars,  and  my  Hiram — he's 
the  conductor — brought  you  home  with  him,"  Jean  an 
swered,  with  a  quiet  simplicity  that  was  reassuring. 

"  The  cars  !  "  exclaimed  Augusta,  in  a  startled  accent ; 
then,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  Oh  yes !  I  remember ;  I 
was  too  late  !  too  late !  "  and  again  the  wild  look  came  to 
her  eye. 

"Too  late  for  to-night,"  said  Jean,  "  but  if  you  will  go 


TWO  ricxuKEs.  279 

to  bed  and  sleep  good,  you  will  see  him  when  you  wake  in 
the  morning." 

Again  the  promise  had  the  effect  of  quieting  the  disturbed 
mind,  and  Jean  was  able  to  undress  her,  to  put  on  her  one 
of  her  own  tidy  little  wrappers,  which,  if  not  fine,  was  as 
neat  and  clean,  she  herself  said,  "  as  any  lady  in  the  land 
could  wear,"  and  to  lay  her  in  a  bed  as  clean  as  the  wrap 
per,  and  very  comfortable,  though  it  was  made  of  straw. 

Ah  Jean  !  I  wonder  if  you  thought  that  night  of  the  good 
Samaritan,  as  you  gave  up  that  dearest  pleasure  of  the 
twenty-four  hours,  getting  Hiram's  supper  ready,  and  sitting 
to  see  him  enjoy  it,  to  pour  out  his  steaming  coffee,  and  to 
hear  him  say  again  and  again  what  a  dear  little  wife  he  had, 
what  a  comfortable  .home  she  made  for  him,  and  how  much 
better  a  man  could  be  when  he  was  so  taken  care  of,  and 
when,  instead  of  this,  you  knelt  beside  the  bed  to  chafe  the 
cold  feet  of  the  stranger  with  your  warm  hands,  and  sat  all 
night  beside  her,  listening  to  her  strange,  wild  talk  of  per 
sons  of  whom  you  had  never  heard,  and  when,  hardest  of  all, 
at  the  earliest  dawn  of  light,  you  woke  Hiram,  abridging  by 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  his  little  time  for  sleep,  that  he  might 
be  able  to  go  for  the  doctor  before  he  was  obliged  to  be  at 
the  depot.  Perhaps  Hiram  might  have  grumbled  a. little  at 
this,  as  people  are  apt  to  grumble  when  first  awoke,  had  he 
not  seen  that  though  his  Jean  had  evidently  not  even  lain 
down  through  the  night,  she  had  prepared  his  clean  linen  and 
warm  socks,  and  hot  coffee,  and  notwithstanding  a  little 
paleness,  looked  as  cheerful  and  bright  as  if  she  had  never 
known  care  or  watching.  Jean  may  not  have  thought  of 
the  good  Samaritan,  but  I  am  sure  she  had  something  of  the 
spirit  of  Him  who  has  given  us  that  beautiful  example. 

The  doctor  did  not  have  a  cheerful  Jean  to  wake  him, 
and  he,  like  Iliram  Brown,  had  been  up  late  the  night  before  ; 
so  he  grumbled  and  growled  terribly  when  he  was  called,  de- 


280  TWO   PICTURES. 

claring  that  "  he  would  not  go  at  such  an  unreasonable  hour ; 
that  he  would  not  be  such  a  pack  horse  for  the  community." 
Hiram  saw  that  he  was  sufficiently  awake  to  understand 
him,  and  hurried  off  to  his  cars,  quite  sure  that,  in  spite  of 
all  these  cross  speeches,  the  doctor  would  go ;  and  so  he  did, 
and  quickly,  too,  though  he  grumbled  all  the  time  he  was 
dressing  himself,  only  changing  his  decision  not  to  be  for  an 
assertion  that  he  loas  "  a  perfect  pack  horse  for  the  com 
munity." 

The  doctor's  cheerfulness  had  not  been  perfectly  restored 
even  when  he  reached  Jean's  pretty  cottage,  and  he  listened 
to  her  details  of  the  lady's  case  with  a  clouded  brow,  "  poli- 
pohed  "  all  idea  of  anything  serious,  saying,  "  And  so  Hi 
ram's  going  to  take  charge  of  all  distressed  ladies  that  travel 
in  his  cars  ?  A  perfect  knight-errant !  I  hope  he  has  some 
thing  more  than  his  thousand  dollars  salary  to  do  it  upon  ; 
that's  all." 

"  But,  doctor,  who  was  to  take  care  of  the  poor  lady  1 
Somebody  must,  you  know,  for  she  was  all  crazy  like,  and 
couldn't  take  care  of  herself." 

"  Let  the  public  take  care  of  her,  then." 

"  But  the  public  wasn't  there,  you  know,  doctor,  and  Ili- 
ram  was,"  said  the  simple  Jean,  not  at  all  satisfied  to  have 
Hiram  blamed. 

"  Well,  let  me  see  her,"  crie<l  the  doctor,  feeling  some 
what  puzzled  to  answer  this,  yet  unwilling  to  acknowledge 
himself  vanquished ;  "  I've  no  time  to  talk  here— without  my 
breakfast,  too,  and  very  probably  for  nothing  at  all.  I  dare 
say  this  woman  is  one  of  those  foolish  people  that  have  a 
fever  whenever  they  are  excited,  and  get  delirious  whenever 
they  have  a  fever,  and  if  you  had  only  waited  an  hour,  all 
this  fuss — " 

The  doctor  stopped  suddenly  ;  they  were  in  the  sick 
room,  and  as  Augusta,  roused  from  unquiet  sleep  by  their 


TWO   PICTUKES.  281 

entrance,  raised  herself  in  bed  and  turned  her  startled  face 
toward  them,  there  was  something  in  her  looks  that  filled 
his  heart  with  pity,  and  something  which  told  to  his  prac 
tised  eyes  that  the  case  was  more  serious  than  he  had  pro 
fessed  to  believe  it.  He  drew  near  the  bed,  the  little  pee 
vish  expression  all  gone  from  his  face,  leaving  nothing  there 
but  the  large-hearted  philanthropy  and  the  acute  sense  for 
which  he  was  noted. 

Augusta  drew  away  as  he  approached. 

"  It  is  the  doctor,  come  to  see  you,  to  make  you  well," 
said  Jean,  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  taking  her  hand 
kindly. 

"  The  doctor  !  oh,  sir,  is  he  better  ?  can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"Him!"  said  the  doctor  to  himself;  "I  knew  it;  a 
man's  always  in  the  case  if  a  woman  goes  out  of  her  head, 
and  a  woman,  if  a  man  does." 

"  Can  I  see  him  ?  "  repeated  Augusta. 

"  Certainly,  as  soon  as  you  are  well  enough,"  the  doctor 
answered. 

"  I  am  well  enough  now ;  let  me  go  !  "  she  said,  vehe 
mently,  to  Jean,  who  held  down  the  covering  she  would  have 
thrown  aside,  and  prevented  her  rising.  "  Let  me  go,  or  he 
will  die  without  seeing  me  !  " 

"  You  cannot  see  him  yet ;  it  would  agitate  him  too 
much,  and  perhaps  prevent  his  recovery  ;  you  must  wait  till 
he  is  better — then  you  shall  see  him." 

"Are  you  sure?     Will  Hugh  let  me  come  ?  " 

"  Hugh  1  I  cannot  tell  you  unless  you  tell  me  his  whole 
name.  Hugh  what  ? " 

"  Hugh  Moray,"  she  breathed,  softly,  almost  in  a  whis 
per,  looking  around  her  with  a  stealthy  glance,  as  if  afraid 
some  one  was  present  whom  she  would  not  have  to  hear 
her.  Jean  withdrew  quickly  out  of  sight,  but  not  quickly 
enough  to  prevent  Augusta's  seeing  her  dress  just  as  it  dis 
appeared. 


282  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  turning  to  the  doctor,  "  I  knew  she 
was  listening ;  she  will  tell  him — I  know  she  will." 

"  She  has  gone  now,  and  if  you  will  only  tell  me  where 
he  lives,  I  will  bring  him  here.  Tell  me,  where  does  he 
live — this  Hugh  Moray  ?  " 

The  partial  gleam  of  sense  was  gone,  and  she  repeated, 
"Hugh  Moray,  of  St.  Mary's;  Hugh  Moray,  of  St.  Mary's," 
as  a  child  sometimes  repeats  a  name  in  sport,  scarcely  con 
scious  of  what  he  is  doing,  while  her  eyes  closed  wearily. 
The  doctor  touched  her  pulse  ;  it  bounded  beneath  his  finger 
like  a  frightened  steed.  The  conviction  of  her  illness  only 
made  him  more  anxious  to  discover  her  friends  and  home. 
Her  muttered  tones  sank  into  silence  ;  he  thought  she  slept. 
Jean  went  down  to  see  if  Hiram  had  left  any  coffee,  that  she 
might  get  a  cup  for  the  doctor.  Suddenly  Augusta's  eyes 
opened. 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  doctor,  as  she  turned  them  on  him  ; 
"  I  am  going  to  bring  Hugh  Moray  from  St.  Mary's." 

"But  he  is  not  there  ;  don't  you  know  he  died  in  Wash 
ington?  and  we  all  died  then;  I  died  in  New  York;  and 
then  I  came  to — to — Elizabeth — Elizabeth — well,  I  don't 
know  ;  I  can't  remember,"  passing  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
and  speaking  like  one  in  a  dream. 

Generally,  Doctor  Foster  would  have  said  to  a  patient, 
under  such  circumstances,  "  Never  mind — don't  try  ; "  but 
instead  of  this,  he  said  now,  "  You  came  to  Elizabcthtown 
to  see  him — and  he  would  not  see  you  ]  " 

"  Yes,  he  would  ;  he  loved  me — she  couldn't  help  that — 
and  he  called  me  '  dear  child,'  and — and — oh  !  I  must  go  ; 
it  will  be  too  late,"  and  she  raised  herself  in  bed  ;  but  the 
doctor's  strong  arm  held  her  back. 

"  You  must  be  quiet  now,"  he  said,  "and  do  just  as  you 
are  told,  or  I  cannot  promise  that  you  shall  see  him." 

Doctor  Foster  had  gained,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  all  that 


TWO   PICTURES.  283 

he  was  likely  to  gain  from  this  delirious-  ramble ;  the  next 
thing  was  to  do  what  he  could  for  his  patient's  recovery  ; 
afterward  he  would  see  about  informing  her  friends  where 
she  was  to  be  found.  Unfortunately  for  himself,  and  yet 
more  unfortunately  for  those  who  came  under  his  treatment, 
the  doctor  had  not  accepted  fully  the  new  medical  light  that 
had  dawned  upon  the  world.  Yet,  had  he  not  been  entirely 
without  profit  from  it.  Even  on  those  who  flee  from  its 
ray,  there  falls  a  twilight  reflection  from  it  which  makes  it 
no  longer  midnight  with  them.  Doctor  Foster  called  ho 
moeopathy  a  humbug ;  but  it  was  the  boast  of  his  friends 
that  he  gave  very  little  medicine, — scarcely  any, — relying 
very  much  on  the  vis  medicalrix  of  nature.  "  Only,"  said 
the  doctor,  "nature  is  sometimes  unable  to  act  from  the 
state  of  the  system,  and  we  must  remove  what  clogs  her 
beneficent  energies." 

Well,  we  are  not  writing  a  medical  treatise,  for  which 
we  would  be  duly  thankful,  and  so  we  need  only,  as  vera 
cious  historians,  record  that  in  the  present  case  the  blood,  ac 
cording  to  Dr.  Foster,  clogged  the  beneficent  energies  of 
nature,  and  the  lancet  was  employed  with  unsparing  hand. 
The  result  was  to  render  the  patient,  at  least  for  a  time,  less 
troublesome.  The  ravings  of  delirium  were  exchanged  for 
the  stupor  of  exhaustion.  During  this  temporary  lull,  Dr. 
Foster  sent  his  own  housekeeper  to  watch  her,  and  adminis 
ter  the  cooling  draughts,  which  were  all  the  medicine  he 
deemed  necessary,  while  Jean  obtained  some  rest. 

The  next  visit  of  the  doctor  was  made  at  an  hour  when 
he  knew  that  Hiram  Brown  would  probably  be  at  home. 
He  knew  that  Hiram's  three  years  as  a  conductor  had  given 
him  an  almost  universal  acquaintance  with  persons  living 
on  his  section  of  the  railway. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  anybody  of  the  name  of  Mo 
ray,  living  at  Elizabethtown  ?  "  he  asked. 


28-i  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  To  be  sure,- 1  do ;  everybody  about  here  knew  the 
poor  old  Commodore  that  I  see  by  the  newspaper  to-day 
is  just  dead." 

"  Dead  !     Was  his  name  Hugh  ?  " 

"  No  ;  they  call  him  James  in  the  paper  ;  but  his  son's 
name  is  Hugh  ;  I've  often  heard  that  young  cousin  of  his'n 
that's  gone  away,  and  had  a  great  fortune  left  him,  call  him 
so." 

"  Well,  I  must  write  a  note  to  this  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  and 
you  must  get  it  to  him  this  evening.  The  lady  up  stairs  is 
some  relation  or  friend  of  his." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so  !  well,  I'm  right  glad  I  brought 
her  home  to  Jean,  if  'twas  only  for  the  good  old  Commo 
dore's  sake ;  but,  doctor,  how  will  it  do  to  trouble  them  just 
now ;  the  Commodore  only  died  yesterday — they  must  be 
in  great  trouble." 

"  But  if  this  poor  girl  should  have  wandered  away  from 
their  house  in  this  delirious  state,  it  would  be  a  great  relief 
to  them  to  know  where  she  is." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Hiram,  reluctantly  convinced,  for  he 
was  too  genuinely  kind  not  to  have  that  delicacy  which 
shrinks  from  any  intrusion  on  sorrow. 

The  doctor  wrote  his  note,  and  Hiram  took  charge  of  it. 
Of  course  he  could  not  himself  stop  at  Elizabethtown  long 
enough  to  deliver  the  note — he  was  almost  glad  he  could 
not ;  but  he  committed  it  to  an  acquaintance  whom  he  saw 
at  the  railroad  station,  with  many  charges  that  he  should 
tell  Mr.  Hugh  that  the  lady  was  comfortable,  and  had  a 
good  doctor  and  nurse,  and  "  he  need  not  be  a  bit  troubled 
about  her — indeed,  that  the  doctor  only  wrote  to  keep  him 
from  being  troubled." 

It  is  not  certain  that  Hugh  Moray  understood  all  these 
well  intended  assurances.  The  doctor's  note  gave  such  a 
description  of  the  lady  that  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind 


TWO   PICTURES.  285 

who  it  was ;  he  also  learned  from  it  that  she  had  come  to 
Elizabethtown  in  the  afternoon  train  and  returned  at  nieht. 

& 

Could  she  have  been  at  the  house?  The  servant  who  at 
tended  the  door  was  questioned,  and  her  tale  -was  heard. 
Hugh  never  hesitated  for  a  moment  on  his  own  course. 
His  father  lay  dead — he  could  no  longer  serve  him.  His 

mother  and  sisters  were  safe  in  the  shelter  of  their  home a 

home  not  less  sweet  or  less  holy  because  of  the  consecrating 
presence  of  their  dead ;  and  this  young  girl,  whose  vision 
ever  rose  up  before  him  as  the  embodiment  of  a  free,  bright 
childhood,  or  of  youth  crowned  with  all  the  best  gifts  of 
God,  whom  for  long  years  he  had  treasured  in  his  heart  of 
hearts — not  as  a  saint,  to  be  worshipped,  but  as  a  woman,  to 
be  loved — not  the  less  dear  to  his  manly  nature  because, 
among  qualities  noble  and  beautiful,  she  had  faults  to  be 
forgiven  and  weaknesses  from  which  to  be  protected  ;  she, 
whom  he  would  have  shielded  with  his  life  from  the  lightest 
touch  of  harm,  who,  but  a  few  months  ago,  had  never 
stepped  beyond  her  threshold  without  a  guardian,  now  pre 
sented  to  him  a  melancholy  picture  of  unfriended  woman 
hood,  wandering  alone  through  storm  and  night,  and  when 
mind  and  body  had  both  failed  beneath  her  trials,  indebted 
to  the  compassion  of  a  stranger  for  shelter  and  care.  To 
read  the  note  he  had  received  to  his  mother,  to  tell  her  he 
should  be  at  home  again  in  the  morning,  and  to  take  his 
place  in  the  next  train  returning  to  Jersey  City,  were  things 
of  course  with  him.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  he  was 
led  by  Hiram  Brown  to  his  home.  Jean  was  in  the  sick 
room,  but  hastened  down  when  she  heard  her  husband's 
step. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Moray,  Jean,"  said  Hiram,  "  the  lady's 
cousin,"  for  so  Hugh  had  announced  himself. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.     It  seemed  so  sad, 


28C  TWO   PICTURES. 

like,  that  she  should  be  ill  and  maybe  die  here,  without  so 
much  as  a  soul  that  knew  her  name  even." 

Hugh  thought  he  had  nerved  himself  for  all,  but  that 
word  die  had  overpowered  him.  He  turned  away  for  a 
moment  from  the  observation  of  Jean's  tender  eyes,  and 
though  he  immediately  mastered  himself  so  far  as  to  ask  the 
question,  "  How  is  she  ?  "  his  voice  sounded  husky  and  in 
distinct. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  to  that ;  she  was 
quiet  all  day,  slept  all  the  time,  and  didn't  seem  to  have 
much  fever ;  but  now  her  face  is  all  red  and  hot  again,  and 
she's  begun  to  talk  just  the  same.  But  won't  you  come  up 
and  see  her  yourself,  sir  ?  " 

Come  up  and  see  her  ?  Hugh's  heart  bounded  at  the 
thought.  He  had  so  longed  to  look  upon  her — so  feared 
he  never  should  see  her  more — and  now,  but  a  few  steps 
separated  him  from  her,  what  was  to  prevent  his  passing 
them  ?  what  was  to  prevent  his  watching  beside  her,  uncon 
scious  as  she  was,  through  this  night,  ministering  to  her 
wants,  and,  it  might  be,  listening  to  her  voice?  What  was 
to  prevent  it  ?  That  which  was  stronger  than  bolts  and 
bars :  the  delicacy  of  a  noble  soul,  which  would  not  debase 
itself  by  taking  what  another  was  powerless  to  withhold — 
nay,  what  would  have  no  value  unless  freely  yielded,  was 
his  second  thought,  as,  with  an  unconsciously  haughty  ges 
ture,  he  declined  Jean's  invitation. 

Dr.  Foster  had  purposely  delayed  his  evening  visit  till  a 
late  hour,  that  he  might  see  Hiram,  and  learn  the  result  of 
his  note.  When  he  came,  he  found  that  the  first  effect  of 
the  bleeding  had  passed,  and  the  fever  had  returned  with  in 
creased  violence.  Later  in  the  night  the  delirium  became 
more  violent  than  ever.  She  was  less  easily  influenced  than 
on  the  preceding  evening,  and,  as  Jean  prevented  her  rising, 
cries  of  distress  and  terror  thrilled  through  the  house,  and 


TWO   PICTURES.  287 

made  Hugh  start  from  his  seat,  and  ascend  the  stairs  toward 
her  room.  Did  some  influence,  imperceptible  to  others,  act 
ing  on  her  excited  nerves  and  brain,  tell  her  that  he  was 
near  ?  We  know  not.  Many  such  mysteries  there  are  to 
tax  the  acuteness,  perhaps  to  disappoint  the  hopes  of  the 
physiologist. 

"  He  is  there,"  she  whispered  softly,  as  if  to  herself, 
glancing  at  the  same  time  at  the  door,  behind  which  Hugh 
had  stationed  himself.  She  tried  again  to  rise,  but  Jean 
gently  laid  her  arm  on  her,  saying,  "  Lie  still,  dear  lady  ! " 

"  Hugh  !  Hugh  !"  cried  Augusta,  wildly,  "  Will  you  let 
them  kill  me  ?  " 

Then,  as  Hugh  involuntarily  sprang  into  the  room,  she 
held  out  her  hands  to  him,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  Hugh  !  why 
didn't  you  come  sooner  ?  She  would  not  let  me  go  to  you, 
and  now  it  is  too  late." 

"  No,  dear  Augusta  !  It  is  not  too  late  ;  I  am  here  now, 
and  no  one  shall  trouble  you." 

He  took  her  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  seated  himself  in  the 
chair  Jean  placed  for  him  beside  the  bed. 

Her  eyes  softened,  her  crimson  lips  parted  with  a  smile, 
and  she  said  softly,  "  They  won't  trouble  me  while  you  are 
here.  But  what  made  you  stay  so  long  ?  Mr.  Mortimer 
was  waiting  for  me — no — not  Mr.  Mortimer — who  was  it 
wanted  me,  Hugh  ? " 

"  I  wanted  you,  dear  one,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  full  heart 
in  his  voice,  as  he  bent  down  and  gently  kissed  the  hand  he 
held. 

"  Oh  no !  "  she  said,  speaking  again  with  a  little  wild- 
ness,  "  No,  she  said  you  didn't  want  me.  Oh  !  let  me  go  to 
my  uncle — he  will  die  before  I  get  there." 

"  He  does  not  want  you  now  ;  you  must  rest  and  I  will 
take  care  of  him." 

•   "  And  you  will  let  me  come  when  he  wants  me  ?  " 
13 


288  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  sleep  now.'' 

"  But  if  you  go,  Hugh,  she  will  come  back,  and  then  she 
will  never  let  me  see  you  again,"  and  Augusta  held  tightly 
the  hand  in  which  hers  was  lying. 

"  No,  she  shall  not  come ;  I  will  leave  a  kind  friend  with 
you,  who  will  not  let  her  come." 

He  beckoned  to  Jean,  who  had  with  instinctive  delicacy 
withdrawn  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and  she  came 
near. 

Augusta  clasped  Hugh's  hand  tightly  again  and  came 
near  to  him,  whispering  with  a  frightened  look,  "  Hugh  ! 
she  is  coming  ! " 

"  No,  dear  one ;  that  is  a  friend  who  has  promised  to 
watch  by  you  till  I  come  back.  Look  at  her,  see  !  she  is 
not  like  her." 

Augusta  looked  earnestly  at  Jean,  who  smiled  kindly 
on  her.  The  smile  was  returned  after  a  little  while  ;  the 
hand  relaxed  its  clasp,  and  with  a  gentle,  submissive  tone, 
Augusta  asked,  "  Will  you  stay  with  me  till  Hugh  comes 
back  ? " 

Jean  gave  a  cordial  assent,  and  took  the  seat  which  Hugh 
gave  her.  How  hard  it  was  for  him  to  leave  her,  no  words 
can  tell.  How  tenderly  his  eyes  met  the  glance  she  turned 
upon  him  as  he  rose  !  How  his  very  inmost  heart  seemed 
to  leap  forth  in  the  kiss  he  again  pressed  upon  her  hand  ! 
It  was  his  farewell,  for  the  night  had  passed  and  it  was  with 
in  a  few  minutes  of  the  time  for  the  early  train,  by  which  he 
must  return  home.  That  day  he  must  be  at  his  mother's  side. 

"  Hugh  !  you  wrill  come  back  1 "  said  she,  as  he  turned 
again  to  look  at  her  from  the  door. 

"  As  surely  as  I  live ! "  was  the  emphatic  reply ;  yet,  even 
as  he  spoke,  his  heart  was  sinking  within  him  with  the  fear 
that  he  might  come  back  to  find  her  no  longer  there.  He 
had  written  a  note  to  Miss  Drayton,  telling  her  of  Augusta-'s 


TWO   PICTURES.  289 

illness,  and  giving  her  address,  requesting  that  she  would 
send  the  best  nurse  she  could  obtain,  to  relieve  Jean,  until 
his  mother  and  sisters  were  able  to  come  to  her  assistance, 
and  he  had  forced  into  Hiram's  hands  a  purse,  which  would 
procure  whatever  might  be  needed  for  her  comfort. 

Hugh's  note  was  sent  to  Miss  Dray  ton  by  the  morning 
boat,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction,  a  little  after  noon,  to  re 
ceive  a  few  lines  from  her,  written  by  Augusta's  bedside, 
assuring  him  that  she  was  sleeping  quietly,  that  Jean  re 
ported  her  to  have  been  more  composed  from  the  time  he 
had  seen  her,  and  that  the  doctor  considered  her  symptoms 
more  favorable. 

Much  did  he  need  the  comfort  and  the  strength  thus 
given  him.  The  father,  of  whom  he  had  been  so  proud, 
whom  he  had  loved  all  the  more  because  the  world  had 
been  unjust  to  him,  was  this  day  to  be  borne  to  his  grave. 
In  that  procession  walked  many  who  had  never  looked 
upon  his  living  face.  All  sought  to  render  honor  to  the 
worth,  known  too  late.  His  brother  officers,  from  the 
Brooklyn  navy  yard,  civilians  of  the  highest  dignity,  all 
whose  presence  could  give  distinction  sought  a  place  there. 
Distinction  they  may  have  given,  a  short-lived  distinction, 
but  scarcely  pleasure  to  the  hearts  of  those  whom  his  death 
had  left  desolate,  for  in  them  sounded  ever  the  sad  words 
that  Augusta  had  so  often  uttered,  "  Too  late  !  too  late  ! " 

But  we  will  not  dwell  upon  a  scene  which  no  pen  can 
adequately  describe.  They  bore  him  forth  with  reverent 
hands,  they  laid  him  tenderly  to  rest  in  his  last  bed,  and 
gently  covered  his  resting  place  with  the  green  turf.  There, 
watched  by  love,  undisturbed  will  be  his  repose  till  He  in 
whom  he  trusted  shall  appear.  We  may  not  linger  there. 
From  him,  who  has  entered  the  haven,  we  turn  to  those  who 
are  yet  tossed  on  the  troubled  waves. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  OL !  Low  this  spring  of  love  rescmbleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day; 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away." — SIIAKSPEABK. 

DECEMBER'S  dark,  stormy  days  have  come.  Winter's 
snows  have  covered  the  fields  around  Hiram  Brown's  cot 
tage.  The  winds  whistle  bleak  and  cold  around  it,  but 
within  there  is  brightness  and  warmth  for  the  stranger  who, 
after  weeks  of  illness,  is  just  able  to  rise  and  sit  for  a  few 
hours  each  day,  beside  the  fire  in  the  little  grate  which  had 
first  been  lighted  to  welcome  her,  and  for  the  friends  who 
have  tended  her  with  loving  hearts  and  hands. 

When  Augusta  awoke  to  perfect  consciousness,  feeble  as 
a  child,  and  with  the  child-like  tenderness,  the  child-like 
longing  for  love,  all  reawakened  in  her  heart,  the  first  object 
on  which  her  eyes  rested  was  the  face  of  Mrs.  Commodore 
Moray,  bending  over  her  with  anxious  tenderness.  For  a 
moment  she  thought  herself  dreaming,  and  after  one  earnest 
gaze,  closed  her  eyes,  then  opened  them  again  to  see  if  the 
vision  had  faded  away.  No  !  there  it  stood  beside  the  bed, 
the  hair  a  little  grayer,  the  face  a  little  sadder  and  paler 
than  of  old,  but  not  otherwise  changed,  except  by  the  deep 
mourning  dress. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  love  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Moray, 
thinking  there  was  recognition  in  the  glance  turned  to  her. 


TWO   PICTURES.  291 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Moray  !  "  was  breathed  in-  a  low,  feeble 
voice. 

"  Say  dear  mother,  as  you  used  to  do  when  you  were  a 
little  child,"  said  Mrs.  Moray,  pressing  her  lips  tenderly  to, 
her  forehead. 

';  Dear  mother ! "  and  Augusta  smiled,  as  none  had 
seen  her  do  for  many  a  month  ;  then,  with  a  little  sigh  of 
weariness,  she  added,  softly,  "  But  where  am  I,  and  what 
are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Hush !  you  must  not  ask  any  questions  till  you  are 
a  great  deal  stronger." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  ?  " 

«  No,  dear  child !  " 

Augusta  laid  her  wan,  white  hand  on  Mrs.  Moray's  ;  her 
eyelids  fell  wearily,  and  she  slept  again.  From  this  hour 
her  recovery,  though  slow,  was  steady.  Who  has  not  ob 
served  how  dependent  are  the  soul's  manifestations  upon  the 
physical  condition  ?  Augusta  Moray,  with  health  which 
had  never  known  disturbance,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  proud 
and  self-reliant;  Augusta  Moray,  enfeebled  by  illness,  was 
touchingly  submissive.  Day  by  day,  as  her  own  dim 
memories  prompted  her  inquiries,  the  past  was  unfolded  to 
her.  The  months  in  which,  repelling  the  kindness  that  would 
have  soothed  and  cherished  her,  withdrawing  herself  from 
all  that  could  have  made  life  attractive,  she  had  sat  in  chill 
loneliness — months,  in  which  her  life  could  have  been  sym 
bolized  only  by  a  frozen  sea,  in  the  midst  of  whose  desert 
vastness  rose  an  icy  statue  of  herself  at  once  deity  and  sacri 
fice — such  are  the  marvels  wrought  by  pride — the  blow 
which  struck  that  statue  from  its  pedestal,  and  revealed  all 
that  its  glittering  surface  had  hidden  from  her  view — all, 
all  came  back  to  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  under  some 
strange  glamour,  such  as  we  are  told  could  make  the  meanest 
hovel  seem  a  splendid  castle,  could  transform  a  beautiful 


292  TWO   PICTURES. 

young  prince  into  a  hideous  beast,  or  restore  him  to  his 
proper  shape.  I  low  magnanimous  had  seemed  her  conduct 
in  withdrawing  from  all  on  whom  she  could  be  supposed  to 
have  any  claim,  in  resting  only  on  her  own  resources,  re 
lieving  them  of  all  draft  on  their  sympathies  or  their  aid. 
Now,  this  magnanimity  was  dwarfed  into  the  littleness  of 
selfish  passion.  Instead  of  relieving  them,  unless  she  could 
believe  them  all  false  and  hollow,  she  saw  that  she  had 
inflicted  on  them  the  deepest  pain,  and  in  the  end  far  greater 
trouble  and  expense  than  she  would  have  done  by  accepting 
their  proffered  care  at  first.  And  why  had  she  rejected  that 
care  ?  Had  it  been  indeed  to  spare  them  ?  The  conscious 
blushes  that  dyed  her  cheeks  said  a  thousand  times — No ! 
It  had  been  the  feeble  revenge  of  a  slighted  woman.  She 
had  been  willing  all  should  suffer,  if  only  she  could  reach 
the  cold,  stern  heart  that  had — not  wronged,  not  rejected, — 
that  had  offered  her  a  brother's  protecting  and  honoring 
affection.  With  the  usual  tendency  to  swing  from  one 
extreme  to  another,  she  saw  these  things,  not  as  mistakes 
that  might  be  rectified,  not  even  as  sins  that  might  be  par 
doned,  but  as  a  total  shipwreck  of  her  life.  Others  had  not 
been  deceived,  she  argued  ;  what  was  so  clear  to  her  now, 
must  always  have  been  manifest  to  them  ;  and  how  they 
must  have  pitied  her  throughout !  Yes,  they  pitied  her — 
they  were  so  noble  that  they  had  not  cast  her  off,  though  she 
had  so  tried  them  ;  but  veil  it  as  they  would,  must  not  con 
tempt  mingle  with  their  pity  1  And  with  this  sentiment  she 
must  learn  to  be  content — she,  who  had  flung  scornfully  away 
all  that  was  not  the  passionate  devotion  of  a  lover,  must 
receive  with  gratitude  this.  And  the  one  who  was  most 
tender,  to  whom  it  was  so  much  a  part  of  his  nature  not 
only  to  love,  but  to  throw  a  sanctifying  halo  around  that 
he  loved,  which  permitted  him  also  to  honor  it,  he,  on 
whose  tender  heart  she  had  probably  inflicted  the  keenest 


TWO   PICTURES.  293 

pang,  had  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  her  confession  or 
atonement. 

Such  depressing  thoughts  weighed  heavily  upon  her, 
making  her  recovery  very  slow,  as  we  have  said.  She 
seemed  to  herself  to  have  lost  all  self-control.  In  the 
shadowy  twilight,  and  often  in  the  day,  when  hidden  behind 
the  white  curtains  of  her  bed,  tears  stole  from  her  closed 
eyes,  quiet  tears — no  sobs,  no  distortion  of  her  features 
marking  passionate  emotion. 

"  Will  you  see  Hugh,  dear  ?  "  Mrs.  Moray  had  asked, 
the  second  morning  that  Augusta  was  able  to  rise  from  her 
bed  and  sit  up,  with  a  wrapper  of  crimson  cashmere  thrown 
over  her  white  gown. 

Scarcely  less  deep  was  the  crimson  that  flushed  to  her 
pale  cheeks  as  she  asked,  "  Is  he  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  never  failed  to  call  as  he  went  down  to  his 
business  or  came  back  again,  since  he  knew  you  were  here." 

"  He  is  very  good  ;  I  will  see  him  if  he  wishes  it." 

"  You  must  not  agitate  her,  Hugh  !  she  is  very  weak." 

"  I  will  be  careful ;  I  would  not  have  asked  to  see 
her  yet,  but  I  think  she  will  be  better  when  she  has  seen 
us  all,  and  has  no  more  agitations  of  that  kind  to  look  for 
ward  to." 

Hugh  intended  to  speak  cheerfully,  as  he  entered — 
Augusta  meant  to  meet  him  with  a  smile  ;  but  the  first  look 
at  her  hollow  cheeks,  tinged  though  they  were  with  a  faint 
flush,  and  at  the  pale  thin  hand  extended  to  him,  silenced  the 
words  on  Hugh's  lips,  and  the'first  glance  into  Hugh's  eyes 
brought  tears  instead  of  smiles  to  Augusta's  face. 

"  You  will  soon  be  well  enough  to  come  home  with  us, 
I  hope,"  said  Hugh,  after  some  observations  on  her  improve 
ment,  on  the  weather,  on  Jean's  and  Hiram's  kindness, 
things  that,  lying  within  the  range  of  their  life,  yet  did  not 
press  too  nearly  on  their  hearts. 


294  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  I  am  well  enough,  I  believe,"  with  a  little  emphasis  on 
«  well." 

"  Not  quite  yet ;  but  you  will  come  when  you  are,  will 
you  not  ?  " 

The  tears  which  had  been  just  dried,  came  faster ;  the 
lips  quivered,  there  was  a  little  sob.  Hugh  was  frightened. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  agitate  you,"  he  said  ;  "  forget  it  till 
you  are  stronger,  and  then,  if  my  wish  gives  you  pain,  let  it 
pass — forget  it  still." 

"  No,  no,  pardon  me  this  weakness — I  cannot  help  it.  I 
am  so  weak ;  but  I  shall  feel  better  when  I  have  said  just 
this  :  I  will  do  whatever  will  be  least  troublesome  to-*— to 
you  all ;  I  have  tried  my  own  way,  and — and — " 

"  Dear  Augusta  !  "  and  Hugh  took  again  the  hand  he 
had  suffered  to  fall  from  his,  after  one  silent  pressure ;  "  do 
not  use  such  a  word  as  troublesome  ;  let  it  be  the  way  that 
will  make  you  most  happy,  and  that  shall  be  our  way  as 
well  as  yours  ;  but  we  will  say  no  more  now.  Here  comes 
my  mother  to  turn  me  out.  Do  you  expect  Miss  Drayton 
to-day,  or  shall  I  let  her  know  how  you  are  ?  " 

"  If  you  could  send  her  a  message,  I  should  be  very 
thankful — she  looks  so  delicate,  and  is  so  little  accustomed 
to  exposure,  that  her  visits,  in  such  weather,  lie  heavily  on 
my  conscience." 

"  Your  conscience  is  too  tender,  my  dear  cousin.  You 
should  think  at  present  only  of  what  will  make  you  well. 
Good-by  ;  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  Hugh  was  mistaken  ;  she  is  not  more  cheerful  for  hav 
ing  seen  him,"  was  Mrs.  Moray's  unspoken  comment  on 
Augusta's  state  after  this  visit. 

"  How  foolish  I  am  !  Am  I  never  to  be  taught  that 
kindness  is  all  I  can  expect  from  him  1  Shall  I  never 
be  able  to  imitate  his  indifference,  his  composure  1  "  was 
Augusta's. 


TWO    PICTUBE8. 


295 


"  I  am  afraid  I  betrayed  a  little  too  much  of  my  agita 
tion  at  first ;  but  she  will  learn  in  time  that  she  has  nothing 
to  fear  from  me,  and  then  she  will  trust  in  me  again.  Poor 
child !  when  in  her  delirium  she  had  forgotten  my  foolish 
hopes,  how  she  returned  to  the  tone  of  her  childhood  !  If  I 
dared,  I  should  like  to  ask  her  about  some  things  she  said 
then  ;  but  it  would  not  do.  I  dare  say,  after  all,  it  was  only 
a  vague  feeling  that  my  good  aunt  had  done  her  some 
injury,  applied  in  her  delirium  to  what  occupied  her 
thoughts  just  then ;  yet  it  may  not  have  been.  I  wish  I 
knew  all — nonsense  !  1  dare  say  there  is  nothing  to  know, — 
as  if  there  must  necessarily  be  some  special  cause  for  her 
not  giving  me — I  will  not  think  of  it  again — "  and  Hugh, 
whose  musings  we  have  thus  jotted  down,  took  out  his  notes 
on  a  case  he  was  to  argue  that  very  day ;  and  Augusta, 
could  she  have  seen  the  attention  he  gave  to  them,  and  the 
steady  hand  with  which  he  made  further  comments  on  the 
margin  of  his  paper,  would  probably  have  felt  her  envy  of 
his  calmness  increase.  And  yet,  Hugh  Moray  felt  even 
when  thus  engaged  that  a  change  had  passed  over  him,  that 
had  left  him  not  only  a  graver,  but  a  harder  man ;  that  he 
had  less  trust  in  others,  less  sympathy  for  them,  than  he 
had  once.  Many,  who  would  have  pitied  the  unfriended 
boy,  probably  envied  the  fortunate  barrister,  who  was  fast 
winning  both  fame  and  fortune ;  but  Hugh  would  gladly 
have  exchanged  his  near  prospects  of  both,  for  the  confiding 
tenderness  which  had  made  the  boy's  heart  soft  and  glad. 

In  a  week  from  this  time,  Augusta  found  herself  again 
at  Elizabethtown.  It  was  a  removal  she  would  fain  have 
resisted.  Far  rather  would  she  have  buried  herself  in  the 
little  cottage  with  Jean  and  Hiram.  There  were  moments 
when  she  felt  that  she  would  rather  bury  herself  beneath  the 
white  heaps  of  snow,  or  the  ice  of  the  sullen,  gloomy  river ; 
for  suffering,  mental  or  physical,  had  not  changed  this  proud 


29G  TWO   PICTURES. 

and  passionate  nature ;  it  had  only  made  her  less  confident 
in  her  own  decisions,  and  burned  into  her  heart  the  convic 
tion,  scarce  welcome  at  this  period  of  her  life,  that  she  could 
not  immolate  herself  without  bringing  suffering  to  others. 
There  is  a  mood  of  mind  in  which  even  this  may  be  braved ; 
but  such  was  not  Augusta's  at  present.  She  could  not 
so  soon  forget  him  who  had  passed  away,  with  "  but  one 
ungratified  wish."  To  Mrs.  Moray's  question  whether  she 
felt  strong  enough  to  go,  she  answered,  "  Quite  strong 
enough  ;  but —  "  and  here  she  paused. 

"  But  what,  my  dear  child  ?  Speak  freely  to  me, 
Augusta  ;  you  shall  do  nothing  you  do  not  wish." 

"  I  have  no  wishes,"  she  said,  a  little  petulantly  ;  then, 
as  she  met  the  sad  eyes  that  looked  pityingly  into  hers,  her 
heart  smote  her,  and  with  a  sudden  gush  of  tears,  she  added, 
"  Do  with  me,  dear  Mrs.  Moray,  what  you  please.  I  have 
no  wish  but  to  give  as  little  trouble  as  I  can  to  you,  who 
have  been  so  kind  to  me.  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful  for 
all  your  goodness  !  Who  but  you  would  have  come  to  mo 
at  such  a  time  1 " 

Augusta  raised  the  hand  which  Mrs.  Moray  had  laid 
caressingly  on  hers  to  her  lips. 

"  Any  one,  dear  Augusta,  who  had  loved  you  as  we  do. 
You  once  confided  in  my  love,  my  child,  and  spoke  out 
your  heart  to  me ;  and  why  not  now  ?  " 

A  slight  color  rose  to  Augusta's  pale  cheeks  as  she  said, 
"  I  have  nothing  to  speak ;  I  only  thought  it  might  be  better 
for  me  to  go  back  to  Mrs.  Price,  and  finish  my  engagement, 
now  that  I  am  better." 

"  That  would  be,  indeed,  to  trouble  us.  Indeed,  I  bo- 
lieve,"  Mrs.  Moray  added,  smiling,  "  that  Hugh  has  put 
that  out  of  your  power.  You  must  excuse  him  ;  you  know 
that  Hugh  does  not  often  lose  his  self-control,  but  I  do  not 
think  he  was  quite  master  of  himself  when  he  did  it ;  Miss 


TWO    PICTURES.  297 

Drayton's  account  of  what  passed  on  her  visit  to  you  had 
made  him  so  angry,  that  he  wrote  a  note  to  Mrs.  Price,  in 
forming  her  of  your  illness,  asking  that  whatever  you  had 
left  at  her  house  might  be  sent  to  his  office,  and  requesting 
her  to  release  you  from  an  engagement  which  you  were 
unable  to  fulfil.  Are  you  angry  with  him,  my  dear  ?  " 

Augusta's  cheeks  had  flushed  to  a  deeper  crimson  ;  but 
it  was  not  with  anger. 

"  I  cannot  be  angry  with  what  was  so  kindly  intended," 
she  said,  softly. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,  it  was  kindly  intended — it 
was  just  as  Hugh  would  have  felt  and  acted  for  his  sisters," ' 
rejoined  Mrs.  Moray. 

The  glow  faded  from  Augusta's  face. 

"'Still,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Price's  was  not  a  bad  place — 
her  impertinence  never  did  more  than  excite  my  contempt." 

"  Well,  a  place  is  not  a  very  good  one  which  gives  us 
frequent  occasion  for  the  exercise  of  such  an  unchristian 
emotion  as  contempt.  Good  or  bad,  however,  you  are  not 
fit  for  any  place  now — you  still  have  fever  every  evening." 

"  I  think  I  must  often  have  had  fever  before  my  illness. 
I  had  violent  headache  often  all  night ;  sometimes,  indeed, 
when  I  was  playing  for  them  to  dance,  I  was  almost  wild 
with  it." 

"  That  proves  what  Dr.  Foster  thought.  He  said  this 
illness  could  not  have  come  on  so  suddenly  as  we  supposed; 
he  thought  the  exposure  and  the  great  shock  you  had  re 
ceived,"  and  Mrs.  Moray  drew  Augusta's  head  toward  her 
till  it  rested  on  her  bosom  and  pressed  her  trembling  lips 
to  her  forehead,  as  she  remembered  what  that  shock  was — 
"  he  thought  that  these,"  she  resumed,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  had  only  brought  on  more  rapidly  and  aggravated, 
perhaps,  an  already  existing  disease." 


298  TWO   PICTURES. 

They  were  silent  a  little  while  ;  then  Augusta  returned 
to  the  subject. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  Dr.  Foster  is  right,"  she  said,  "  yet 
even  in  that  condition  I  was  able  to  teach  with  satisfaction 
to  my  employer  ;  ought  I  not,  then,  to  do  it  again  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  with  satisfaction  to  yourself,  Augusta ;  it 
would  now  be  with  exquisite  pain  to  your  friends.  Will 
you  give  us  this  pain,  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  dear  Mrs.  Moray — never  1  never  again  !  " 

"  Then  you  must  come  to  us,  at  least  for  the  present. 
We  will  talk  of  the  future  when  you  are  quite  well.  Come 
and  bo  my  daughter  and  Hugh's  sister, — will  you  ?  "  and 
she  bent  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  1  will  be  anything  you  wish,"  said  Augusta,  but  so  list 
lessly,  that  Mrs.  Moray  turned  away  with  a  sigh  at  her 
powerlessness  to  give  pleasure  or  inspire  confidence. 

Often,  very  often,  did  Hugh,  during  the  succeeding 
month,  have  to  sigh  for  the  same  cause.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise,  while  with  success  unattainable  to  one  less  prac 
tised  in  self-mastery,  he  was  striving  to  prove  to  her 
that  she  might  rest  in  his  affection  as  in  that  of  a  brother ; 
an  affection  too  unimpassioned,  too  free  from  selfish  de 
sires,  to  require  that  she  should  repress  it  by  reserve,  or 
fear  to  encourage  it  by  yielding  to  its  guidance ;  while  she 
was  seeking  in  all  their  intercourse  for  some  proof  that  the 
past  had  not  been  all  a  dream  ;  or,  at  least,  that  the  dream 
had  had  some  better  foundation  than  a  mere  girlish  vanity, 

the  very  suspicion  of  which,  humiliated  her  beyond  endur 
ance. 

"  Was  not  that,"  she  asked  herself,  "  the  very  window  at 
which  I  sat  when  he  said  those  words  which  confirmed, 
more  than  confirmed,  all  I  had  dared  to  believe  ?  did  not 
his  father  think  as  I  did  ?  And  yet,  had  we  not  both  mis 
taken  him?  Did  not  what  followed  show  that  we  had? 


TWO   PICTURES.  299 

But  then,  that  parting  scene  !  there  he  sat  now  on  that  very 
spot,  reading  a  letter,  and  what  meant  the  long  neglect  of 
his  absence ;  on  the  other  hand,  what  meant  that  meeting  at 
Washington,  those  happy  days  that  followed  1  ah  !  but  that 
letter ! — his  own  hand  and  seal ;  there  was  no  mistaking 
that.  Fool !  fool  that  I  am  !  "  and  with  an  impatient  move 
ment  she  threw  her  head  back,  as  if  to  cast  off  the  thoughts 
that  at  once  irritated  and  mortified  her.  In  doing  so,  she 
met  Hugh's  eyes  fastened  upon  her  with  something  like  a 
smile  in  them,  and  as  bright  a  flush  rose  to  her  cheeks,  as  if 
he  thought  he  could  have  read  what  had  been  passing 
through  her  mind. 

"  What  subject  occupies  you  so  deeply,  my  cousin  ? 
my  mother  spoke  to  you  twice  without  your  perceiving 
it." 

"  Don't  look  so  shocked,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Moray. 
"  It  was  only  to  call  your  attention  to  this  beautiful  sun 
set." 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  was  thinking — "  then,  as  her 
conscience  reproved  her  for  the  untruth,  she  changed  her 
phraseology  ;  "  I  am  thinking  that  I  am  really  quite  well 
enough  now  to  be  doing  something,  and  that  I  ought  n'ot  t(> 
be  idle  any  longer." 

"  Do  you  call  your  present  life  idle,  my  dear  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Moray,  with  a  pained  expression  of  countenance ;  "  a 
very  busy  idleness,  as  I  could,  prove  by  the  exhibition  of 
various  articles  of  your  neat  handiwork." 

"  Are  you  weary  of  us,  Augusta  1 "  asked  Hugh,  draw 
ing  near,  and  leaning  against  the  casement  of  that  very 
window  outside  of  which  he  had  stood  that  summer  after 
noon. 

Augusta  made  a  little  impatient  movement  with  her 
hand,  which  was  peculiar  to  her,  and  which  Hugh  well 
understood. 


300  TWO   PICTURES. 

"Those  who  have  few  friends  do  not  readily  grow 
weary  of  them,"  she  said,  as  he  continued  to  look  at  her 
smilingly,  yet  as  if  he  would  have  an  answer. 

"  That  is  not  your  case,  Augusta,  and  I  can  prove  it  to 
you.  Do  you  see  these  three  letters  ?  I  have  received 
them  all  to-day,  and  they  are  all  full  of  you.  First  Miss 
Drayton  writes  that  she  and  Miss  Mellen  are  very  anxious 
about  you,  that  she  does  not  like  your  own  account  of  your 
present  condition,  and  she  wishes  me  to  ascertain  from  your 
physician,  whether  he  thinks  a  change  of  climate  would  be 
of  service  to  you  ;  if  he  does,  and  you  will  consent  to  come 
to  her,  Judge  Mellen  will  himself  come  on  to  escort  you. 
Then  Charlie  and  Mrs.  Moray —  " 

"  Mrs.  Moray  ! "  with  an  expression  of  contempt,  "  pray 
let  her  pass  ! " 

"  I  am  content ;  but  we  cannot  let  Charlie  pass." 

"  It  would  be  as  well  while  he  is  with  his  mother.  He 
:s  but  her  echo,  understanding,  too,  as  little  as  does  the  echo, 
the  sound  it  repeats." 

"  Well !  the  sound  he  repeats  at  present  is  a  very  kind, 
pleasant  sound  ;  they  are  anxious  to  know  how  you  are,  and 
Charlie  would  himself  come  for  you,  if  you  would  go  out 
and  spend  the  rest  of  the  winter  with  them.  His  mother 
has  been  very  ill — he  hopes  she  will  be  able  to  travel  next 
summer,  when  you  can  return  with  them,  if  you  wish." 

"  That  proposition  has  been  answered  already.  I  cannot 
be  a  guest  in  my  early  home,  with  Mrs.  Moray  for  my  host 
ess.  Is  that  all  1 " 

"  No  ;  I  have  a  third  letter.  It  is  from  Mr.  Mortimer. 
Ho  is  very  anxious  about  you  ;  but  read  for  yourself,"  and 
opening  the  letter,  Hugh  handed  it  to  Augusta,  pointing 
to  the  following  passage  as  that  which  he  wished  her  t<i 
read. 

"  I  believe  a  return  to  her  native  climate  and  to  a  life  as 


TWO   PICTURES.  301 

free  as  that  of  an  intelligent  being  can  ever  be  from  respon 
sibilities,  will  be  her  best  cure ;  but  this  is  not  my  only  or 
my  strongest  reason  for  begging  that  she  would  come.  I 
want  her  for  my  own  sake.  I  am  old — I  cannot  come  to 
her,  and  I  long  to  see  the  child  who  is  the  only  living  thing 
that  I  can  flatter  myself  will  miss  me  a  little  when  I  die. 
Tell  her  that  hour  cannot  be  very  far  away  for  one  as  old 
as  I— it  may  be  very  near ;  ask  her  if  she  will  let  me  die 
with  this  my  strongest,  almost  my  only  earthly  wish  un- 
gratified." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Augusta  ;  returning  the  letter  without 
raising  her  eyes.  There  followed  a  moment  of  struggle  on 
her  part,  and  of  embarrassed  silence  on  Hugh's ;  then  her 
head  sank,  her  face  was  covered  with  her  hands,  and  she 
burst  into  a  perfect  passion  of  tears.  It  was  long  since  she 
had  wept  thus,  and  now  it  would  have  been  hard  for  her  to 
tell  the  cause  of  her  tears.  In  truth,  they  were  from  very 
mingled  feelings ;  tenderness  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  agitation  at 
the  thought  of  seeing  the  old  home,  regret  at  leaving  the 
friends  with  whom  she  now  was  ;  and  last,  and  strongest  of 
all,  perhaps,  grief  and  humiliation  at  the  thought  that  Hugh 
wished  her  to  go,  or  he  would  not  have  shown  her  such  a 
letter — all  these  emotions  contributed  to  her  tears. 

Mrs.  Moray  had  been  called  out  of  the  room,  while 
Augusta  was  reading  the  letter,  so  that  she  and  Hugh  were 
alone.  To  a  nature  like  Hugh  Moray's,  the  pain  of  estrange 
ment  from  those  beloved,  is  never  so  keenly  felt  as  Mrhen 
they  are  in  sorrow.  Involuntarily  Hugh  approached  Au 
gusta  at  the  first  sound  of  her  weeping.  His  arm  was  out 
stretched  as  if  to  draw  her  to  him  that  he  might  soothe  her 
as  he  had  often  done  before ;  but  with  sudden  recollection, 
he  drew  back  and  walked  once  or  twice  across  the  room, 
before  he  could  master  himself  sufficiently  to  speak  without 
betraying  more  emotion  than  was  consistent  with  the  calm- 


302  TWO   PICTURES. 

ness  of  a  disinterested  friendship.  When  he  spoke,  though 
his  manner  was  composed  and  undemonstrative,  his  voice 
had  still  unusual  softness  in  its  tone. 

"  Dear  Augusta !  I  would  not  have  shown  you  this 
letter,"  he  said,  "  fearing  that  it  might  agitate  you  too 
much,  had  not  Dr.  Foster,  whom  I  went  to  see  this  morn 
ing,  not  feeling  quite  satisfied  with  your  progress  toward 
health,  told  me  that  he  believed  nothing  but  entire  change 
of  climate  would  restore  you  completely.  It  will  grieve  us 
all  to  part  with  you  even  for  a  few  months.  I  shall  write 
Mr.  Mortimer  that  we  spare  you  only  on  condition  that  you 
are  to  come  back  to  us  in  May  ;  Charlie  will  be  glad  to  find 
so  good  an  excuse  for  coming  as  your  need  of  an  escort, 
unless,  indeed,  I  should  be  able  to  leave  my  business  for 
two  or  three  weeks,  and  you  will  let  Esther  and  me  come 
for  you." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Augusta,  recovering  her  voice  dur 
ing  this  speech,  which  had  probably  been  prolonged  for 
this  very  purpose ;  "  you  are  very  kind  ;  but  it  will  hardly 
be  necessary  to  trouble  you  and  Esther  ;  travelling  is  very 
safe  in  our  country." 

"  But  travelling  alone  is  not  very  agreeable." 

"  When  must  I  go?"  asked  Augusta,  waiving  the  last 
proposition  entirely. 

"  The  doctor  said  as  early  as  possible ;  and  as  I  found 
Mr.  Mortimer's  letter  at  my  office,  and  thought  it  probable 
you  would  not  refuse  his  entreaty,  I  have  been  making  in 
quiries  about  packets  and  passengers.  I  find  a  vessel  will 
sail  a  week  from  to-day,  in  which  a  clergyman,  with  whom 
Mr.  Ilolton  is  acquainted,  has  taken  passage  for  himself  and 
his  daughter.  I  have  secured  for  you  the  refusal  of  a  state 
room  till  to-morrow — "  Hugh  paused  a  moment;  Augus 
ta's  face  was  still  downcast  and  somewhat  averted  from 
him  ;  he  could  not  read  its  expression  ;  but  there  was  no 


TWO   PICTURES.  303 

mistaking  the  dejection  indicated  by  the  attitude.  Taking 
the  hand  that  rested  on  her  lap,  he  added,  "  You  know  not 
how  painful  it  is  to  let  you  go  without  some  of  us  accom 
panying  you  ;  but  the  doctor  thinks  it  so  necessary — and — 
and — "  he  paused  again — he  could  not  bear  to  refer  to 
money,  to  acknowledge  that  he  could  not  afford  to  meet  the 
cost  of  more  than  one  traveller  at  present,  even  if  lie  were 
able  to  leave  his  business. 

"  And  it  would  be  the  cost  of  three,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "  for  she  would  not  be  comfortable  with  me,  without 
Esther." 

Suddenly  Augusta  looked  up — she  had  been  trying  to 
gather  composure  for  the  very  subject  which  Hugh  was 
endeavoring  to  avoid. 

"  Before  I  decide,  I  must  know  what  the  expense  will 
be,"  she  said,  somewhat  brusquely,  as  people  are  apt  to  say 
things  about  which  they  are  very  decided  themselves,  yet 
anticipate  a  contest  with  another. 

"  Oh  !  very  little — not  worth  speaking  of.  I  will  ar 
range  that  before  you  go,  so  that  it  will  give  you  no 
trouble." 

"  I  cannot  decide  till  I  know  exactly  what  it  will  be," 
she  repeated,  very  firmly. 

Hugh  saw  the  question  must  be  met  and  answered. 
"  The  passage  is  twenty-five  dollars,  and  surely  such  a 
sum —  " 

"  Can  be  easily  met  by  me,"  Augusta  interrupted  ;  "  I 
have  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars — part  of  it  from 
my  six  months'  salary  at  Mrs.  Price's,  and  part  of  it 
from —  "  she  hesitated  a  moment,  not  willing  to  speak  of 
the  sale  of  her  jewelry,  then  resumed,  "  part  of  it  remaining 
from  the  sum  1  brought  with  me ;  you  would  oblige  me 
very  much  if  you  would  get  Dr.  Foster's  bill  for  me  in  the 
morning  ;  till  I  have  seen  that — " 


304:  TWO  PICTURES. 

"  That  is  paid  already,"  said  Hugh,  somewhat  coldly. 

"  And  the  amount  ? " 

"  Need  not  trouble  you,  Augusta ;  it  is  paid,  I  said." 

"  So  I  understood  you ;  that  changes  my  creditor ;  to 
whomsoever  it  is  due,  I  must  know  the  amount." 

"  Still  so  proud,  Augusta  ?  "  he  questioned,  sadly. 

"  It  is  not  pride,  it  is  simple  justice — for  all  your  kind 
ness  and  that  of  your  mother  and  sisters,  for  your  generous 
care  of  me  in  illness,  your  generous  hospitality — " 

"  We  give  hospitality  to  strangers,"  Hugh  interrupted  ; 
but  she  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"  For  all,  I  thank  you ;  but  my  heart  would  break  under 
pecuniary  obligation.  I  pray  you  do  not  force  me  to  lie 
undc'r  its  crushing  weight." 

"  You  are  under  no  pecuniary  obligation  to  me.  I  owed 
your  uncle  more  than  twenty  times  the  fifty  dollars  paid  to 
Dr.  Foster.  What  I  owed  to  him  is  now  yours,  since  you 
are  his  heir-at-law,  and  this  sum  was  not  disposed  of  by 
will." 

"  It  was  not  disposed  of,  because  it  was  intended  that  it 
should  remain  with  you.  I  have  no  more  claim  on  it  than 
I  have  on  anything  else  that  is  yours." 

"  And  must  we  be  altogether  as  strangers,  then,  Augus 
ta  ?  "  Hugh  asked,  in  an  accent  in  which,  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts,  there  was  some  bitterness. 

"  Should  I  have  submitted  to  a  stranger's  guidance,  and 
dwelt  so  long  in  quiet,  in  a  stranger's  home  ? "  she  asked, 
quickly.  "  Your  kindness,  in  any  other  form,  I  repeat,  I  will 
accept — money,  never ;  I  have  been  humbled  enough  on  this 
subject,  let  me  hope  that  you  will  never  name  it  to  me  again." 

In  saying  this,  Augusta  looked,  for  the  first  time,  steadily 
into  Hugh's  face.  Her  own  was  flushed  with  passion,  and 
her  lip  was  curved  with  an  expression  which  he  could 
scarcely  interpret  by  anything  except  disdain.  As  she  con- 


TWO   PICTUEES.  305 

eluded,  she  rose  from  her  seat ;  and  though  he  began  to 
expostulate  on  the  injustice  of  her  words  as  applied  to  him 
self,  she  seemed  not  even  to  hear  him — she  certainly  did  not 
heed  him,  not  deigning  even  a  glance  as  she  withdrew  to  her 
own  room,  leaving  him  bewildered,  yet  indignant. 

Her  proud  displeasure  evaporated  in  another  fit  of  weep 
ing  when  she  found  herself  alone,  and  when,  at  Esther's  call, 
she  descended  to  the  parlor  to  tea,  her  face  had  lost  its  flush, 
and  her  manner  its  unusual  excitement.  But  the  sterner  na 
ture  she  had  roused  had  not  been  able  so  quickly  to  regain 
its  equilibrium.  When  she  ventured  to  look  at  Hugh  she 
saw  that  he  was  very  grave ;  and  though  the  courtesies  of 
the  table  were  offered  with  punctilious  attention  to  her  as 
well  as  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  his  countenance  never  lost 
its  expression  of  grave  reserve.  After  tea,  Lily  asked  if  he 
would  not  finish,  a  poem  which  he  had  begun  to  read  for 
them  the  last  evening  ;  but  he  answered  that  he  should  be 
engaged  in  his  study,  and  they  must  read  it  themselves.  As 
he  said  this,  he  withdrew  into  the  said  study  and  remained 
there  all  the  evening,  though  Mrs.  Moray  expressed  the  fear 
that  he  must  be  very  cold  there,  as  the  room  was  not  easily 
warmed,  and  the  fire  had  only  been  ordered  by  Hugh  while 
they  were  at  tea — and  Augusta  said  to  herself,  "  It  is  I  who 
have  made  him  angry  and  driven  him  from  his  family." 

Before  returning  to  their  rooms,  each  of  the  family  in 
turn,  first  Mrs.  Moray,  then  Esther,  then  Lily,  stopped  at 
the  study  to  say  good  night  to  Hugh. 

Augusta  and  Lily  had  left  the  parlor  together,  lighted 
by  one  candle,  which  Augusta  carried,  for  Esther  and  Lily 
occupied  the  same  apartment,  and  Esther  had  already  car 
ried  their  light  up  stairs. 

"  You  will  come  in  and  say  good  night  to  Hugh,"  said 
Lily,  pausing,  as  they  reached  the  study  door. 

"  No  ;  but  I  will  wait  for  you."     Then,  in  reply  to  Lily's 


306  TWO   PICTURES. 

questioning  eyes,  she  added,  "  Hugh  is  busy  ;  he  will  not 
care  to  see  me  this  evening." 

"  I  will  ask  him,"  said  Lily,  tripping  in  with  a  smile  on 
her  face. 

Hugh  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  door,  which  care 
less  Lily  left  so  far  open  that  Augusta  could  both  see  and 
hear  what  passed  within. 

"  Hugh,  you  are  very  unsocial,  this  evening,"  said  Lily. 

Hugh  did  not  turn,  nor  did  his  pen  cease  its  movement 
across  the  paper,  as  he  said,  in  a  dry  tone,  "  I  am  very  busy, 
Lily." 

"  Well,  good  night ;  "  she  bent  down  and  gave  him  her 
sisterly  kiss,  exclaiming,  as  she  rose,  "I  believe  Augusta 
was  right,  after  all,  when  she  said  you  were  so  busy  that 
you  would  not  care  to  see  her." 

"  She  was  mistaken,"  still  in  the  same,  dry,  curt  tone ; 
"  tell  her,  if  you  please,  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  her  here 
for  a  moment,  if  it  will  not  give  her  too  much  trouble  to 
come  to  me." 

"  Oh,  no  !  she  is  just  outside  of  the  door.  Augusta  I 
Hugh  wants  to  see  you,"  said  Lily,  as  she  went  out. 

Augusta  entered.  The  haughty  air  she  had  worn,  when 
she  left  Hugh  in  the  afternoon,  was  gone.  Her  eyes  were 
heavy,  her  face  pale,  her  movements  languid. 

Hugh  rose,  placed  a  chair  for  her,  and  closed  the  study- 
door.  Augusta  felt  very  weak,  yet  she  did  not  seat  herself, 
as  his  action  had  seemed  to  invite  her  to  do  ;  she  only 
rested  her  hand  upon  the  back  of  the  chair.  Hugh  had 
gone  to  his  desk,  and  now  approached  her  with  a  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"  Augusta,"  he  said,  "  here  is  Doctor  Foster's  bill.  You 
will  perceive  by  the  little  note  appended  to  it,  that  he  be 
lieved  me  to  be  your  accredited  agent ;  you  will  excuse,  I 
hope,  the  liberty  I  took  in  permitting  him  to  entertain  that 
idea." 


TWO   PICTURES.  307 

His  voice  had  no  softness  in  it ;  in  his  manner,  though 
perfectly  courteous,  Augusta  missed  that  peculiar  deference 
which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  find  there. 

"  Hugh ! "  she  said,  falteringly,  "  you  are  angry  with 
me." 

" Not  angry — at  least  not  now"  he  said,  in  the  same 
restrained  manner,  "  but  I  cannot  deny  that  I  was  deeply 
wounded  by  your  remarks  this  evening.  It  is  too  agitating 
a  subject  for  you  at  present,  however,"  his  tone  softening  a 
little,  "  but  some  day  I  shall  ask  my  cousin  to  be  so  kind 
as  to  tell  me  in  which  of  my  efforts  to  serve  her  I  have  been 
so  unfortunate  as  to  inflict  on  her  a  humiliation." 

"  It  is  better  that  I  should  tell  you  now,  Hugh,"  said 
Augusta,  in  a  voice  that  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"  As  you  please,"  was  the  somewhat  nonchalant  reply. 

It  was  very  difficult  for  Augusta  to  speak  on  such  a  sub 
ject  with  so  little  encouragement ;  but  she  was  determined 
to  make  the  effort.  Hugh  might  have  some  apology,  some 
thing  to  say  that  would  make  that  one  ungenerous,  ignoble 
action  seem  more  in  harmony  with  the  rest.  It  could  not 
be  excused — it  might  be  palliated.  Yes  !  she  would  speak. 

It  was  not  very  certain  that  she  could,  for  twice  her  lips 
opened  and  no  sound  came.  Hugh  waited.  Suddenly  a 
flush  came  to  her  face  and  she  spoke.  Indignation  had 
awakened  again,  and  she  was  strong. 

"  When  we  give  alms  to  a  beggar,  Hugh,  we  are  taught 
to  do  it  without  ostentation  ;  surely  a  delicate  reserve  is  at 
least  equally  desirable  when  we  would  force  our  favors 
upon  those  who  have  not  solicited  them." 

"  Your  proposition  is  incontrovertible ;  but  excuse  me 
if  I  say  I  cannot  see  how  I  have  sinned  against  it."  The 
manner  and  tone  were  alike  haughtily  repellant. 

"  By  sending  me  money,  or  its  equivalent,  a  draft,  in  an 
open  envelope  without  a  word  of  explanation  or  apology  ;  I 


308  TWO   PICTUKE8. 

would  rather  have  wanted  bread,"  she  went  on  warmly, 
"  than  to  have  been  compelled  to  convict  you  of  an  act 
untrue  alike  to  the  principles  of  a  Christian  and  the  instincts 
of  a  gentleman." 

"  Somewhat  hard  words  these,  I  should  say,  to  one  who, 
hurried  away  by  the  intelligence  that  peril  to  what  was 
dearer  than  life,  overhung  his  father — "  Hugh's  voice  soft 
ened  at  that  word,  but  soon  grew  hard  again  ;  "  peril  which 
might  be  averted  by  his  presence,  begged  for  ten  minutes 
delay,  and  spent  every  moment  of  them  in  writing  such  a 
note  as  he  believed  would  convince  you  that,  in  what  he 
enclosed,  you  were  only  receiving  a  part  of  what  was  your 
own,  and — " 

"  You  wrote  me  a  note,  Hugh  ?  You  wrote  me  a  note 
with  that  draft  which  you  sent  by  Mr.  Seton  ?  " 

"  Exactly  so  ;  by  Mr.  Seton,  whom  you  had  introduced 
to  me  as  a  gentleman,  and  your  friend,  I  think ;  and  as  I 
had  used  up  my  last  minute  in  this  poor  note,  which  seems 
to  have  escaped  your  eye  or  your  memory,  Mr.  Seton  prom 
ised  that  he  would  seal  it  and  deliver  it  himself." 

"  He  did  come  to  the  house  to  deliver  it ;  but,  not  know 
ing  his  object,  1  declined  to  see  him,  and  he  sent  me  by  Mrs. 
Charles  Moray,  an  open  envelope,  with  the  message  that 
this  would  show  me  the  hurry  you  were  in  ;  and,  Hugh, 
I  solemnly  declare  that  the  envelope  contained  nothing  but 
the  draft  which  I  sent  back  to  you." 

Augusta  thought  this  must  free  her  from  all  blame  in 
Hugh's  mind  ;  but  she  was  mistaken.  Instead  of  the  return 
to  his  usual  gentleness,  which  she  had  expected,  his  words 
were  more  indignant,  his  attitude  more  haughty  than  ever. 

"  And  you  could  believe  this  of  me  ? "  he  exclaimed, 
"  you — there  was  not  in  your  heart  one  memory  of  the  past, 
to  plead  for  me — nothing  that  would  say  '  he  is  incapable 
of  such  an  act?'  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  refuse  so 


TWO   PICTUKES.  309 

haughtily  to  accept  a  service  from  me.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  you  desired  to  withdraw  from  all  association  with  one 
capable  of  such — I  have  no  name  base  enough  for  it ! "  he 
cried,  suddenly  turning  away,  and  striding  across  the  room. 
As  he  turned  at  the  farther  end  of  it,  he  saw  her  standing 
where  he  had  left  her,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  and 
her  clasped  hands  resting  on  the  back  of  the  chair  he  had  set 
for  her.  He  could  not  see  that  the  eyes  were  full  of  tears 
and  the  hands  trembling ;  yet  something  in  the  attitude 
touched  him,  and  he  came  back  to  say,  more  gently,  "  It  is 
enough,  Augusta;  I  cannot  deny  that  you  are  fully  excused." 

"  Excused  !  but  not  forgiven,  Hugh,"  she  said,  softly. 

He  was  silent. 

"  What  could  I  believe,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Believe  ! "  he  cried  again,  with  a  force  that  made  her 
sfart,  "  believe  that  Mr.  Seton  or  Mrs.  Moray  had  abstract 
ed  it,  as  one  of  them  most  certainly  did  ;  believe  the  paper 
had  been  blown  away,  had  melted  into  thin  air  ;  believe  any 
impossible  marvel  rather  than  this." 

"  I  should  have  done  so,  Hugh  ;  but —  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  You 
would  have  done  so,  but  that  you  had  already  learned  to 
distrust  me — but  that  you  had  already  ceased  to  esteem  me 
worthy  of  your  friendship." 

This  was  not  the  truth ;  but  it  was  something  so  like  the 
truth,  that  Augusta  knew  not  what  to  answer.  She  could 
not  speak  of  the  letter  which  had  put  an  impassable  gulph 
between  them.  Even  had  she  made  no  promise  to  Mrs. 
Moray,  how  was  it  possible  to  name  it  without  betraying 
the  nature  of  the  hopes  it  had  crushed — of  the  affection  it 
had  outraged.  Might  there  have  been  treachery  here  too  ? 
She  grew  bewildered,  oppressed.  Hugh  was  startled  as  he 
saw  her  press  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  and  gasp  as  if  her 
breath  came  with  difficulty.  He  remembered  her  late  ill- 


310  TWO   PICTUKES. 

ness  for  the  first  time  during  this  conversation,  and  he  came 
to  her  side  with  more  quietness  of  movement  and  said,  "  I 
fear  I  have  agitated  you ;  do  not  let  us  speak  of  this  any 
longer." 

"  And  will  you  not  forgive  me,  Hugh  1 "  she  said  ;  "  I  do 
not  know  quite  how  it  was — I  was  so  sad  and  confused  ; 
I  am  confused  now,  I  believe  ;  but  I  wish  you  could  say  '  I 
forgive  you  ; '  can't  you,  Hugh  ?  " 

Hugh  was  subdued.  There  was  no  anger,  but  only  sad 
ness  in  his  tone,  as  he  replied,  "  I  do  forgive  you,  Augusta ; 
will  you  forgive  me,  my  poor  child,  for  forgetting  for  a 
little  while  all  you  have  been  suffering  lately  ?  Good  night, 
you  must  forget  all  this  and  sleep  ;  Lily  has  gone,  I  sup 
pose,  but  I  will  get  a  light  for  you." 

He  lit  one  of  the  candles  that  stood  in  bright  silver 
candlesticks  on  the  mantlepiece,  and  handed  it  to  her.  She 
went  to  the  door,  then  turning  round,  looked  at  him  with 
sad,  weary  eyes,  and  said,  "  You  do  forgive  me,  Hugh  ?  " 

Hugh  had  no  words  for  such  an  appeal.  "  Forgive  and 
forget ! "  that  was  just  what  he  did.  For  a  moment  he 
went  back  to  the  old  days  when  she  was  the  little  child  she 
looked  just  then,  and  his  heart  was  as  free  from  any  debas 
ing  passion  and  as  full  of  tenderness  as  heart  could  be,  as  he 
folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  gave,  in  one  soft  pressure  of  his 
lips  upon  her  cheek,  the  only  answer  of  which  he  was  at 
that  moment  capable.  Only  a  few  hours  before,  such  a 
familiarity  from  Hugh  would  have  been  resented  as  an 
oU'encc,  and  not  the  less  deeply  resented  if  supposed  to  indi 
cate  the  freedom  of  a  brother  ;  but  having  discovered  that 
she  had  so  greatly  wronged  him  in  her  thoughts,  Augusta, 
with  her  womanly  generosity,  repaid  the  wrong  by  giving 
back  to  him  all  her  childlike  confidence.  Even  that  letter 
was  scarcely  remembered  for  that  night ;  and  when  it  did 
force  itself  upon  her  thoughts,  there  came  with  it  a  convic- 


TWO   PICTURES.  311 

tion  that  could  she  only  speak  of  it,  which  was,  of  course, 
impossible,  it  could  be  so  explained  that  she  would  see 
there  was  no  want  of  consistency  in  Hugh.  He  had  not 
sought  her — that  was  a  point  the  letter  clearly  settled ;  well, 
let  that  dream  pass — he  was  still  her  friend,  and  what  was 
better,  he  was  noble,  and  she  might  still  esteem  and  trust 
him  as  of  old.  And  so  gentle  and  so  trustful  had  these 
thoughts  made  Augusta,  that  Hugh  found  it  harder  than 
ever  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  that  calm  friendliness  of 
manner  he  had  prescribed  for  himself,  during  the  few  days 
that  intervened  between  this  interview  and  her  sailing. 

"  Hugh  !  will  you  take  this  ?  "  Augusta  said,  the  next 
day,  offering  him  the  fifty  dollars  he  had  paid  to  Dr.  Fos 
ter.  "  I  think  I  have  enough  without  it,"  she  added,  with  a 
deprecating  timidity  of  tone  and  manner. 

"  You  will  not  have  too  much  with  it,"  said  Hugh, 
clasping  the  hand  she  held  to  him,  for  a  moment,  but  leav 
ing  the  money  in  it. 

Augusta  did  not  press  it  on  him.  She  would  show  him 
how  she  trusted  him,  and  Hugh  understood  and  thanked  her 
in  his  heart. 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  to  Jersey  City  with  you  1 "  she 
asked,  after  this  point  had  been  settled  ;  "  I  want  to  see  my 
good,  kind  Jean  before  I  go ;  I  will  come  back  at  twelve 
o'clock,  under  Mr.  Brown's  own  care." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  too  cold  for  you." 

"  I  will  wrap  very  warmly." 

Augusta  went.  She  found  Jean  neat  and  smiling  as 
ever,  sitting  on  one  side  of  the  bright,  warm  kitchen  grate, 
while  sister  Carrie,  a  younger  Jean,  sat  at  the  other — her 
visit  had  been  delayed,  but  not  prevented  by  hospitality  to 
the  stranger. 

"  Oh,  Miss !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  looking  so 
well,  too,"  cried  Jean,  "  with  such  a  color  in  your  cheeks." 
14 


312  TWO   PICTURES. 

It  was  pretty,  that  color,  though  only  the  frosty  air  had 
brought  it  there,  and  it  faded  even  while  Jean  was  speaking. 

"  I  am  much  better,  thank  you,  Jean ;  and  so  this  is 
Carrie.  I  was  sorry  to  disappoint  you  of  your  Christmas 
visit,  Carrie." 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  please  don't  mention  it.  I  must  have  gone 
home  by  this  if  I  had  come  at  Christmas,  so  you  see  it  was 
all  for  the  best,  ma'am,  every  way." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  say  so.  Here,  Jean,  I  have 
brought  you  a  few  little  things  that  I  thought  you  might 
value  because  I  made  them." 

Augusta  unrolled  a  package  as  she  spoke,  and  showed 
various  knitted  articles,  over  which  Jean  and  Carrie  went 
into  raptures. 

"  They  are  for  the  little  stranger,  Jean  ;  I  brought  them 
now,  because  I  cannot  be  here  to  welcome  it  when  it 
comes." 

"  Dear  rna'am  !  you  are  so  good." 

"-The  goodness,  dear  Jean,  was  on  your  side  and  Mr. 
Brown's  ;  what  would  have  become  of  me  but  for  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  sure,  ma'am,  we  did  no  more  than  was  our 
duty,  and  we've  been  paid  for  it  over  and  over  again ; 
besides  the  pleasure  of  serving  you,  there's  that  beautiful 
picture  you  sent  us  Christmas  day." 

"  It  was  a  trifle,  Jean,  but  I  thought  you  would  like  it 
because  I  painted  it  myself,  and  I  tried  to  make  it  like  what 
you  had  told  me  of  your  home  in  the  West." 

"  It  is,  ma'am,  'tis  wonderful  like.  Hiram  knew  the 
big  oak  with  one  branch  broke  off,  right  away,  though  it 
stands  t'other  side  the  house  ;  but  then  I  always  put  it  right 
in  my  rnind,  you  see— and  you  painted  that  yourself  for 
me !  and  there's  the  big  rocking  chair  and  the  sofa  in  the 
parlor  ! " 

"But  I  did  not  send  you  the  rocking  chair  and  sofa, 
Jean." 


TWO    PICTURES.  313 

"  You  did  not  send  them  yourself,  ma'am  ;  but  when  we 
went  to  thank  the  gentleman — Mr.  Moray,  I  mean,  ma'am, 
because  the  men  that  brought  it  said  he  had  sent  them — he 
says,  '  You  mustn't  thank  me,'  says  he, '  it's  all  for  the  lady 
— though  she'd  rather  you  would  not  speak  to  her  of  it ; ' 
but,  ma'am,  indeed,  I  couldn't  help  speaking,  and  so  I  told 
Hiram." 

"  But,  indeed,  my  good  Jean,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it — it  was  all  Mr.  Moray's  own  friendship  for  you  ;  I  never 
even  saw  them." 

"  Is  it  possible,  ma'am  ?  then  you  must  come  and  see 
them,  for  they  are  rale  handsome  and  no  mistake." 

Jean  led  the  way  into  the  little  parlor  and  exhibited, 
with  a  glow  of  pride  and  pleasure,  the  really  pretty  sofa 
and  chair,  not  being  satisfied  till  Augusta  had  taken  her  seat 
in  the  last,  and  so  verified  her  assurance  that  it  was  "  the 
easiest  thing  ever  was."  Jean  colored  a  little  as  she  added, 
"  Ah,  ma'am  !  I  didn't  need  them  to  tell  me  that  the  gentle 
man  loved  the  very  dust  you  walked  upon,  and  couldn't  do 
enough  for  anybody  that  was  good  to  you.  I  seen  that,  the 
very  first  night  he  come  here,  when  his  own  father  was  a 
lay  in'  dead." 

"  Was  he  here  before  the  funeral  ?  "  asked  Augusta,  half 
ashamed  of  questioning  Jean,  yet  longing  to  hear  all  she 
could  tell. 

"  Indeed  he  was,  ma'am  ;  he  came  soon  as  the  train 
could  bring  him  after  he  got  the  doctor's  note,  and  he  sat  up 
all  that  night  by  the  kitchen  fire.  When  he  first  corned,  he 
looked  quite  quiet  like,  though  he  was  so  sad  ;  but  when  I 
was  a  telling  him  about  you,  he  just  broke  down  like  and 
turned  away,  as  if  he  couldn't  bear  to  hear  it ;  then  I  asked 
him  to  go  up  and  see  you." 

"  Go  up  and  see  me  1 "  cried  Augusta,  with  a  quick  flush. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  asked  him  ;  but  he  said  no,  and  so  I  left 


314  TWO   PICTURES. 

him  and  went  to  take  care  of  you,  and  you  was  asleep.  The 
doctor  gave  you  something  to  put  you  to  sleep,  you  see, 
and  after  a  long  time  you  woke  up  ;  and  soon  as  you  woke 
you  tried  to  get  up  and  you  kept  saying,  '  1  will  go  to  him,' 
and  when  I  held  you  back,  you  screamed  '  Hugh  !  Hugh  ! 
come  to  me  ! '  just  as  if  you  knew  he  was  there  ;  I  declare  I 
•was  that  weak  you  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  your 
little  finger,  I  was  so  scared ;  and  I  dare  say  you'd  have 
gone  from  me,  but  the  gentleman,  he  heard  you  scream,  and 
come  flying  up  stairs,  and  the  minute  you  seen  him  and  he 
spoke  to  you,  you  was  just  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  He  went  home 
the  next  morning,  for  you  see  his  father  was  to  be  buried, 
and  the  lady  from  New  York  came ;  but  when  night  came, 
there  he  was,  sure  enough,  and  all  the  sleep  he  got  was  on  a 
bench  in  the  kitchen,  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak,  and  that  he 
did  for  many  a  night  after.  I  only  wish  the  sofa  had  been 
here  then ! " 

Augusta  heard  without  a  word.  As  Jean  spoke,  from 
the  darkness  of  that  delirium,  looks  and  tones  flashed  forth 
like  the  shadows  of  a  half  forgotten  dream.  That  dream 
hovered  about  her  all  the  day,  mocking  her  attempts  to 
grasp  its  vanishing  views.  No  wonder  her  head  ached  at 
night  with  the  vain  effort. 

A  fortnight  later,  Augusta  was  once  more  at  St.  Mary's. 
We  will  precede  her,  and  see  what  changes  she  will  find 
there. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


"  He  who  would  fight  the  devil  at  his  own  weapon  must  not  wonder  if  he  finds 
him  aii  overmatch."— SOUTH. 


THE  reader  may  remember  that  Mrs.  Charles  Moray 
and  her  son  had  announced  their  determination  of  returning 
immediately  to  St.  Mary's,  before  Augusta  had  parted  from 
them  in  Washington.  To  tell  the  truth,  Mrs.  Moray  did 
not  expect  much  pleasure  from  that  visit ;  ghosts,  she  knew, 
would  meet  her  there,  which  it  would  be  hard  to  lay  ;  but 
ghosts  would  now  meet  her  everywhere,  and  Charlie  must 
go,  must  take  possession  of  his  property — the  ghosts  must 
be  met.  But  she  would  not  meet  them  in  the  loneliness 
which  she  had  formerly  known  there.  What  good  Mr. 
Mortimer  enjoyed  as  the  serene  stillness  of  nature,  -would 
have  been  to  her  a  frightful  desert,  peopled  by  demons  im 
patient  for  their  prey. 

"  And  so  you  are  really  going  to  live  on  a  Southern 
plantation,  my  dear  Mrs.  Moray  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cullen, 
one  of  the  gayest  of  the  gay  world  of  Washington,  at  that 
time.  She  was  a  widow,  who  had  brought  her  only  daugh 
ter  there  to  introduce  her  into  society.  "  Where  could  such 
society  be  found  as  in  Washington  ?  "  she  asked,  and  justly, 
too,  "  and  how  could  mothers  expect  their  daughters  to 
marry  well,  if  they  did  not  give  them  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  world  ?  " 


316  TWO   PICTURES. 

Mrs.  Cullen  had  conscientiously  done  her  duty,  in  this 
respect.  Her  daughter  had  seen  the  world  at  one,  two, 
sometimes  at  three  balls,  every  evening,  except  Sundays, 
during  the  winter  months  ;  yet  the  great  desideratum  of 
being  well  married  had  not  yet  been  attained.  Not  that 
Miss  Cullen  was  without  admirers.  She  was,  in  truth,  very 
much  admired.  Tho  term  is  cold  j  men  called  her  beautiful, 
at  least  those  men  on  whom  she  exercised  the  bewildering 
charm  of  her  coquetry.  Her  mother's  reputed  wealth  would 
have  ensured  her  attentions,  had  she  been  less  pretty  than 
she  really  was.  We  know  not  how  it  was,  and  fortunately 
are  not  compelled  to  account  for  it.  Some  said  her  sharp 
tongue  had  spoiled  the  fortune  of  her  pretty  face;  some 
that  she  was  too  great  a  flirt  to  be  trusted  by  a  wise  man  ; 
however,  this  was  certain,  Miss  Cullen  had  seen  the  world 
and  been  seen  by  it,  and  still  remained  unappropriated. 
Mrs.  Cullen  and  Mrs.  Moray  had  met  often  in  their  round 
of  gaieties,  had  indeed  been  quite  intimate,  and  Mrs.  Cullen 
had  been  one  of  the  first  after  Mr.  Hugh  Moray's  funeral  to 
call  on  the  mother  of  "  that  fortunate  young  Mr.  Moray," 
prepared  to  offer  condolence  or  congratulation  as  the  case 
should  seem  to  demand.  She  found  it  well  that  she  had 
thus  provided  herself,  for  both  were  called  for.  First,  the 
condolence,  for  "  dear  Mr.  Moray  had  been  always  so  much 
beloved ;  he  had  won  her  heart  the  first  hour  she  saw  him 
by  his  partiality  to  Charles — strange  as  it  might  seem, 
considering  how  talented  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  Jr.,  was,  and 
having  his  own  name,  too,  Mr.  Moray  had  always  prc- 
f.-nv,l  Charlie." 

Then,  as  to  the  congratulation,  "  It  was  quite  natural 
that  she  should  be  glad  that  Charles  had  come  into  posses 
sion  of  such  a  noble  property — one  of  the  finest  in  the 
Southern  States,  and  she  was  glad,  she  could  not  be  hypo 
crite  enough  to  deny  it." 


TWO   PICTURES.  317 

*'  And  they  say  you  have  something  very  handsome 
yourself?  "  suggested  Mrs.  Cullen. 

"  Well,  nothing  very  great — fifteen  or  twenty  thousand 
dollars — enough,  with  what  I  had  before,  for  me  to  live  on 
Avithout  troubling  Charlie,  when  he  gets  another  mistress  to 
his  house."  l 

"  That  will  be  very  soon,  I  suppose,  as  we  understand 
that  his  marriage  with  his  beautiful  cousin  is  une  affaire  ar- 
rangee" 

11  You  do  not  believe  all  Washington  reports,  do  you, 
Mrs.  Cullen  ?  " 

"  Ma  foi !  if  I  could  do  that,  I  might  hope  to  move 
mountains." 

"  Then  you  would  do  well  to  put  that  among  the  things 
you  do  not  believe.  Mr.  Moray  wished  it,  but  there  are 
some  things  one  cannot  do  to  please  even  the  best  of  friends. 
We  offered  Miss  Moray  a  home,  and  would  have  provided 
handsomely  for  her  ;  but — well — you  must  excuse  me — 
Charlie  would  not  like  that  I  should  talk  of  such  things  even 
to  you,  dear  Mrs.  Cullen  ;  but  you  know  there  are  some 
people  who  must  have  all,  or  they  will  have  nothing." 

"  Ah  !  1  understand ;  and  when  is  she  going  ?  " 

"Gone,  my  dear!  actually  gonel  flounced  out  of  the 
house  in  a  passion  at  her  disappointment,  without  even  say 
ing  good-by  to  me,  who  have  been  a  mother  to  her,  as  every 
one  knows,  and  gone  to  Mrs.  Commodore  Moray,  at  Eliza- 
bethtown.  She  is  the  mother  of  young  Mr.  Hugh  Moray. 
He  is  rapidly  rising  in  his  profession,  you  know,  so  he 
would  be  no  bad  parti  for  her.  I  sincerely  hope  he  will 
marry  her ;  I  should  be  sorry,  if  only  for  her  uncle's  sake, 
that  she  should  come  to  harm." 

"  And  so  you  are  going  to  one  of  those  triste  Southern 
plantations  without  even  a  companion?"  cried  Mrs.  Cullen, 
compassionately. 


318  TWO   PICTUBE8. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  no  such  idea ;  it  would  kill  me ;  and 
though  I  would  sacrifice  my  life  for  my  son's  interest,  I 
would  not  choose  to  die  of  the  blue  devils.  1  don't  intend 
that  St.  Mary's  shall  be  triste.  I  shall  remain  in  Savannah 
till  Charlie  has  got  through  with  the  first  sad  scenes.  It 
will  do  no  good,  you  know,  for  me  to  go  through  them 
again." 

"  Of  course  not;  and  it  is  your  duty  to  keep  yourself 
cheerful  for  your  son's  sake ;  the  Quakers  say  cleanliness, 
but  I  say  cheerfulness,  is  next  to  godliness." 

"  1  agree  with  you ;  so  after  that  is  over,  I  shall  take 
with  me  upholsterers  and  all  sorts  of  workpeople,  to  make 
the  old  house  completely  new,  and  refurnish  it  in  every  re 
spect.  The  place  has  really  great  capabilities,  but  it  has 
been  horribly  neglected.  In  a  couple  of  months  I  shall 
make  quite  a  different  thing  of  it.  All  this  will  amuse  me, 
you  know,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  in  perfect  order,  we  shall 
come  away  for  the  summer.  Mr.  Moray  stayed  there  all 
the  year,  but  I  could  not  think  of  such  a  thing.  We  will 
go  to  Saratoga,  or  Newport,  or  somewhere  where  we  can 
get  a  little  life  ;  and  in  October  or  November  we  shall  go 
back  with  as  many  agreeable  people  as  we  can  persuade  to 
go  with  us.  I  hope  you  and  Miss  Cullen  will  be  among 
them." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  am  afraid  my  Eliso," — the 
name  had  been  Eliza,  but  was  Frenchified  to  please  Miss 
Cullen's  taste — "  my  Elise  would  never  stand  such  a  quiet 
life." 

"A  quiet  life  is  not  what  I  design,  I  assure  you.  Char 
lie  has  the  promise  of  several  young  gentlemen  to  come  and 
spend  a  month  at  a  time  with  him  to  hunt — St.  Mary's  is 
full  of  deer.  I  shall  try  to  have  half  a  dozen  pleasant  young 
ladies  always  on  hand.  Of  one  thing  you  may  be  sure  ;  the 
gentlemen  shall  be  good  partis — always  ;  I  have  told  Char- 


TWO   PICTURES.  319 

lie  if  he  wanted  me  to  invite  young  ladies  there,  he  must 
always  make  sure  of  that ;  for,  you  know,  when  young  peo 
ple  are  brought  so  near  together  for  a  whole  month,  some 
thing  must  grow  out  of  it." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  some  of  the  young  gentlemen's 
names  ?  " 

Two  or  three  names  were  given  by  Mrs.  Moray. 

"  Very  good — very  good  ;  I  don't  quite  like  Keardon  ; 
they  say  he  plays  ;  but  the  rest  are  capital." 

"  Keardon  plays,  my  dear  Mrs.  Cullen,  but  they  say  ho 
is  always  fortunate;  I  had  a  little  hesitation  about  him  on 
Charlie's  account ;  but  Charlie  insisted  on  it.  He  says  he 
is  the  most  entertaining  fellow  in  the  world,  and  that  as 
to  any  danger  to  himself,  he  has  not  the  least  fancy  for 
play." 

"  Ah !  but  the  fancy  may  come  and  the  luck  may 
change.  Well,  I  must  be  going ;  I'll  tell  Elise  what  you 
say.  You'll  have  a  piano,  of  course  ?  " 

"  A  grand  piano  ;  one  of  Chickering's  best." 

"  The  young  people  can  dance,  I  suppose,  by  that,  some 
times  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  besides,  every  plantation  has  more  than  one 
fiddler  on  it ;  you  know  they  call  a  violin  a  fiddle." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  may  depend  on  us  ;  but  I  will  hear 
what  Elise  says." 

Mrs.  Cullen  took  an  early  opportunity  of  consulting  her 
daughter  on  a  subject  which  seemed  to  her  by  no  means  un 
important. 

"  They  do  say  that  this  Mr.  Moray  was  immensely 
rich,"  she  said,  "  and  the  young  man  is  good-looking  and 
agreeable  enough  ;  what  do  you  say  to  going  ?  " 

"  I'll  try  it,  if  you  wish  ;  we  shall  spend  nothing  there, 
and  I  suppose,  with  riding,  and  driving,  boating,  and  pic-nic- 
ing,  and  dancing,  and  flirting,  if  there  are  pleasant  men 
there — " 


320  TWO   PICTUBES. 

"  You  will  let  the  flirting  alone,  if  you  please,  we  have 
had  enough  of  that  this  winter ;  if  you  go,  I  expect  you  to 
behave  yourself  discreetly  ;  do  you  understand,  Elise  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  quite  destitute  of  understanding  ;  I  take  your 
meaning  to  be  that  I  am  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  become 
Mrs.  Moray.  I  hope,  before  the  bargain  is  consummated, 
you  will  make  sure  of  the  fortune.  Kemember,  if  that 
should  be  light,  there  are  no  brains  to  turn  the  scale." 

'•  If  you  don't  take  care,  your  tongue  will  ruin  all  your 
bargains,  and  what  good  will  your  brains  do  you  then  ?  " 

"  Teach  me  not  to  regret  the  loss  of  fools." 

"The  loss  of  their  fortunes  would  be  a  more  serious 
evil." 

"  I  might  gain  the  fool  and  Mr.  R  card  on  the  fortune. 
How  then  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  your  own  fault  if  it  should  be  so  ;  I  think  it 
would  be  common  charity  to  that  poor  young  man  and  his 
mother  to  exert  yourself  to  keep  him  out  of  the  hands  of  a 
gamester." 

Whatever  might  be  the  variance  between  this  worldly 
mother  and  her  daughter,  they  were  agreed  in  accepting  an 
invitation  which  promised  them  some  gayety  for  the  ensuing 
winter  without  expense,  Mrs.  Cullon  declaring  that  she  had 
spent  the  income  of  two  years  upon  her  winter  in  Wash 
ington. 

u  I  shall  give  no  more  invitations  till  I  go  to  Saratoga," 
said  Mrs.  Moray,  on  receiving  this  promise ;  "  I  want  our 
little  coterie  to  be  altogether  of  the  tlite." 

In  thus  playing  the  part  of  "  lady  of  the  manor,"  Mrs. 
Moray  had  almost  forgotten  the  poison  drop  in  her  cup  of 
j 'leisures,  when  it  was  recalled  to  her  one  morning  by  a  ring 
which  she  had  learned  to  know,  and  a  voice  that  made  her 
heart  leap  with  a  strange  sensation  of  terror.  She  was  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  going  to  her  room,  and  turned  hastily 


TWO   PICTURES.  321 

to  bid  the  servant  remember  she  was  "  not  at  home."  It 
was  too  late,  the  gentleman  was  already  in  the  hall.  She 
heard  him  say,  "  Oh  !  Mrs.  Moray  will  see  me ;  just  tell 
her  I  am  in  the  study  ;  say  I  am  sorry  to  hurry  her,  but  I 
cannot  wait" 

He  had  not  seen  her ;  she  walked  quickly  to  her  room 
— she  would  delay  going  down — it  might  be  that  he  would 
be  obliged  to  go  without  seeing  her.  The  messenger  soon 
knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Mr.  Saville,  ma'am,  in  the  study  ;  sorry  to  hurry  you, 
but  he  can't  wait." 

Her  door  was  partially  opened,  and  she  spoke  from  be 
hind  it. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Saville  I  am  extremely  sorry  ;  but  I  am  just 
dressing  to  go  out." 

A  minute — it  seemed  to  her  a  second  only — and  the 
man  was  heard  reascending  the  stairs ;  there  was  another 
tap  at  her  door,  and  when  she  opened  it,  a  slip  of  paper  was 
handed  in. 

"  Mr.  Saville  send  that,  ma'am  ;  he's  a  waiting." 

The  paper  contained  but  a  single  line :  "  I  must  sec 
you  ;  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance." 

"  Can  anything  have  been  discovered  ?  "  she  asked  her 
self,  growing  visibly  paler  at  the  thought ;  and  without  a 
word  to  the  man  who  stood  waiting  her  commands,  forget 
ting  that  to  give  effect  to  her  pretence  of  dressing  for  going 
out,  she  had  loosed  the  cord  that  confined  her  morning  dress 
at  the  waist,  she  went  hurriedly  down  the  stairs,  crumpling 
the  slip  of  paper  nervously  in  her  hand. 

Mr.  Saville,  enjoying  the  thought  of  his  triumph  over  a 
lady  whom  the  world  perhaps  regarded  as  his  superior,  had 
followed  the  waiter  to  the  hall,  and  stood  looking  up  the 
stairs,  and  listening  for  the  tones  that  might  conic  from 
thence. 

V 


322  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Take  care,  madam  !  you  will  fall,"  he  cried,  springing 
forward  with  outstretched  arm  to  catch  Mrs.  Moray,  around 
whose  feet  the  tasselled  cord  had  become  entangled. 

She  shrank  back  from  his  touch,  saying,  coldly,  "  There 
is  no  danger,"  as  she  drew  the  cord  around  her  and  knotted 
it  carelessly.  There  was  a  smile  upon  his  face  which  she 
would  once  have  resented  as  impertinent,  as  he  turned 
toward  the  study,  and  her  cheek  burned  with  an  indignation 
she  dared  not  express  in  words  as  she  followed  him.  As 
she  entered,  he  closed  the  door,  and  throwing  himself  into  a 
chair,  looked  up  at  her  and  laughed.  At  that  moment  she 
would  have  been  glad  to  see  him  fall  dead  at  her  feet ;  and 
yet  Mrs.  Moray  was  not  generally  esteemed  an  ill-tempered 
woman.  Perhaps  there  was  something  in  her  eye  which 
told  him  he  was  going  too  far ;  he  may  have  rememWred 
that  a  woman  excited  by  passion  will  do  mad  things.  His 
laughter  suddenly  ceased,  and  he  exclaimed,  "  Excuse  me, 
but,  indeed,  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  thought  of  what 
a  fright  you  must  have  been  in  to  come  down  with  your 
gown  loose  ;  what  did  you  think  had  happened  1 " 

"  Something  very  serious,  I  supposed,  since  it  had  in 
duced  Mr.  Saville  so  far  to  forgot  what  belonged  to  a  lady 
as  to  insist  upon  seeing  me,  although  1  sent  him  word  that 
I  was  preparing  to  drive  out." 

A  slight  smile  again  curled  his  lip,  as  he  said,  "  In  the 
intimacy  between  us,  such  ceremonious  observances  may 
surely  be  dispensed  with.  I  must  confess  I  was  hurt  at 
your  excuse ;  to  put  me  off  with  a  sham,  as  I  knew  it  must 
be  at  this  hour  !  Let  me  tell  you,  madam,  it  was  scarcely 
grateful  to  one  who  has  served  you  and  yours  as  I  have." 

"  I  am  here  now,  Mr.  Saville,  to  hear  your  business ;  as 
to  gratitude  and  service  and  all  that,  it  is  as  well  to  be  si 
lent." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  the  service  speaks  for  itself, 


TWO   PICTURE3.  323 

and  the  gratitude  may  show  itself  more  worthily  in  deeds 
than  words.  To  cut  the  matter  short,  and  speak  plainly,  as 
I  think  we  ought  to  do  to  each  other,  you  and  your  son  are 
enjoying  fortune  through  my  means;  I  want  to  know  how  I 
am  to  be  benefited  by  it  ?  " 

"  How  you  are  to  be  benefited !  I  do  not  understand 
you  sir." 

"  Oh  !  you  thought,  doubtless,  that  I  acted  in  this  busk 
ness  from  pure  disinterested  friendship  ?  that  is  the  style,  is 
it  not  ?  " 

There  was  deadly  fear  at  Mrs.  Moray's  heart,  but  noth 
ing  in  her  words  betrayed  it,  though  they  came  from  pale, 
trembling  lips.  She  rose  from  her  seat,  saying,  "I  will  not 
stay  to  listen  to  such  language." 

"  Yon  are  mad,  to  brave  a  quarrel  with  me  in  this  way," 
said  Saville,  placing  himself  between  her  and  the  door  ;  "  do 
you  know  that  I  have  here,"  touching  the  breast  pocket  of 
his  coat,  "  what,  if  made  public,  would  cast  you  down  in  a 
moment  to  poverty  and  contempt  1 " 

"  Since  you  cannot  gratify  your  malice  without  endan 
gering  yourself,  I  have  little  fear." 

"Endangering  myself!"  with  an  accent  of  contempt ; 
"  you  do  little  credit  to  my  ingenuity  or  your  own  wit,  if 
you  suppose  I  have  left  myself  so  helpless.  Are  you  aware 
that  your  son,  not  wishing  to  be  detained  in  Washington,  as 
he  says,  or  hating  all  business,  as  others  say,  has  given  me  a 
power  of  attorney  to  act  for  him  here  ?  " 

"  What  of  that  ?  the  power  of  attorney  does  not  extend 
to  the  drawing  up  a  new  will  for  a  man  already  dead,  does 
it?" 

"  Not  exactly  ;  what  I  have  done  in  that  way  has  been 
under  commission  from  you  ;  but  it  places  all  Mr.  Moray's 
papers  in  my  hands  to  examine  at  my  leisure,  and  I  may 


324:  TWO    PICTURES. 

find  among  them  another  will  of  later  date  by  one  week  than 
the  one  entrusted  to  Judge  Mellen." 

"  And  both  wills  written  and  witnessed  by  you  !  How 
will  you  account  for  not  having  given  notice  of  this  later 
will  ?  " 

"  I  drew  up  and  witnessed  two  wills  ;  how  should  I 
know  which  was  preserved  ;  why  was  I  to  disturb  people's 
minds,  and  do  mischief,  perhaps,  by  talking  of  another  will 
when  this  had  never  been  withdrawn  from  Judge  Mellen, 
and  the  other  had  probably  been  dictated  by  a  passing 
caprice,  and  destroyed  as  soon  as  made ;  of  course,  it  be 
comes  a  very  different  matter  when  I  find  it  carefully  placed 
in  an  envelope,  the  envelope  sealed  with  Mr.  Moray's  seal, 
and  indorsed  in  his  hand,  '  My  last  will  and  testament,  to 
supersede  all  others.'  " 

As  Mr.  Saville  referred  to  the  seal  and  indorsement,  he 
exhibited  each  in  turn  on  the  packet  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket.  They  seemed  incontestibly  genuine  to  Mrs.  Mo 
ray.  Even  the  villain  before  her  felt  some  touch  of  pity  as 
she  sank  pallid  and  gasping  into  a  chair,  and  threw  her 
clasped  hands  up,  as  if  in  a  sudden  agony. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  quarrel  with  you,"  he  resumed  in  a 
more  peaceful  tone,  as  he  saw  that  she  had  recovered  suffi 
ciently  to  listen  ;  "  indeed,  I  have  meant  by  all  this  to  prove 
to  you  that  we  cannot  afford  to  quarrel ;  all  I  want  is  that 
you  should  be  my  friend  as  I  have  shown  myself  yours." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Mr.  Saville  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Moray,  in  a  faint,  agitated  tone. 

Mr.  Saville  saw  that  the  lesson  had  been  taught — that 
he  could  now  afford  to  be  civil,  and  he  said,  "  Nothing  that 
will  put  you  to  any  inconvenience,  I  hope ;  I  shall  always 
be  glad  to  arrange  our  little  affairs  in  the  manner  most 
agreeable  to  yourself.  All  I  desire  now  is  that  you  should 
give  me  your  note  for  five  hundred  dollars,  payable  in  sixty. 


TWO   PICTURES.  325 

or  even  ninety  days,  if  you  prefer  it ;  you  see  how  easy  I 
make  things  for  you  ;  I  have  even  drawn  the  note,"  placing 
the  paper  before  her  as  he  spoke,  "  so  that  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  sign  your  name  here." 

The  name  was  signed  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"  There,  that  is  all,"  said  Mr.  Saville,  carefully  deposit 
ing  the  note  in  his  pocketbook.  "  It  was  scarcely  worth 
agitating  yourself  about  that.  As  to  the  rest — for  I  think  it 
would  be  as  well  we  should  understand  each  other  fully,  that 
we  may  have  no  more  such  unpleasant  scenes  as  that  of  to 
day — you  have  in  Georgia  Bank  stock  and  Central  Railroad 
bonds — stop,  I  have  made  a  little  note  of  it  here,  thirty-one 
thousand,  four  hundred  dollars.  Now  you  can  empower  me 
to  sell  out  fifteen  thousand,  or  less  than  half  of  this ;  if  any 
questions  are  asked,  you  can  say  that  I  have  promised  to 
invest  it  profitably  at  the  North.  Mind,  I  don't  say  invest 
for  you,  but  only  invest  profitably,  for  I  never  tell  a  story 
if  I  can  help  it.  You  will  not  object  to  this,  of  course  ?  " 

"  If  I  did,  it  would  matter  nothing  ;  I  am  the  slave  of 
your  will,"  in  a  dreary,  hopeless  manner. 

"  Slave  !  oh  no  !  no  !  my  friend  ;  if  you  were  my  slave, 
I  should  take  the  whole,  and  yourself  too,  perhaps,  ha !  ha  !  " 

"  If  you  are  a  man,  spare  me  unnecessary  insult.  I  am 
ready  to  do  all  you  demand  -f  only  show  me  how." 

"  Oh  !  I  will  make  it  quite  easy  to  you.  You  can  rest 
a  while  on  this  ;  when  I  come  next  I  will  bring  the  form 
you  are  to  sign,  empowering  me  to  sell.  If  it  should  require 
me  to  come  out  to  Savannah,  in  order  to  accomplish  it,  I 
suppose  you  will  give  me  a  Christmas  dinner  at  St.  Mary's ; 
I  think  I  can  get  a  fortnight  about  that  time, — to  visit  my 
poor  old  mother,  you  know,  ha  !  ha !  ha  ! " 

"Do   the  fiends  mock  us  thus  while  they  torture?" 
questioned  Mrs.  Moray  with  herself — but  she  said  nothing. 
"  Well,  good-by  ;  we  part  friends,  don't  we  ?  "  he  attempt- 


326  TWO   PICTURES. 

ed  to  take  her  hand  ;  but  she  snatched  it  from  him.  "  De 
pend  upon  it,  you  are  wrong ;  we  must  be  friends  ;  now  be 
good  and  give  me  your  hand — put  it  right  into  mine  youi> 
self,  like  a  willing — slave,  did  you  say  ? — no,  friend,  and  I 
will  tell  you  how  you  may  draw  my  teeth,  make  me 
powerless,  get  this,"  tapping  his  pocket,  "  into  your  own 
hands,  and  burn  it  or  do  what  you  like  with  it.  Will  you 
hear  ?  "  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Slowly,  with  the  reluctant  movement  with  which  one 
might  put  out  the  hand  to  touch  a  noxious  reptile,  she  put 
her  hand  in  his.  He  clasped  it  tightly,  wrung  it  with  a 
violence  that  made  her  writhe  with  pain ;  then,  as  he  threw 
it  from  him,  while  his  face  flushed,  and  his  eye  sparkled 
with  passion,  he  said,  "  Contrive  to  get  that  girl  into  my 
power,  and  you  shall  make  your  own  terms."  In  another 
moment  he  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Moray  went  hurriedly  into  her  room,  with  a  heart 
bursting  with  passion,  to  lock  her  door  and  give  vent  to 
tears — of  penitence  1  no  !  to  tears  of  rage  and  mortification. 
Repentance,  atonement,  were  not  in  all  her  thoughts  ;  not 
her  crime,  but  its  consequences  she  mourned ;  not  how  to 
make  restitution,  but  how  to  escape  this  horrible  thraldom, 
was  the  question  that  long  engrossed  her,  and  to  which  she 
found  no  sufficient  answer,  as  was  proved  by  the  alternations 
of  forced  gayety  and  horrible  depression  in  which  her  life 
passed  for  weeks,  or  until  she  had  buried,  under  a  crowd  of 
self-created  engagements,  this  terrible  scene.  It  is  thus  we 
are  prone  to  talk  of  the  "  dead  past,"  and  say  we  will  bury 
it.  Fools  !  it  is  not  dead — it  will  never  die ;  we  think,  per 
chance,  we  have  buried  it,  but  its  Gorgon  head  rises  when 
we  least  expect  it  from  that  grave,  freezing  us  with  a  dread, 
more  fearful  because  of  our  fancied  escape. 

Two  weeks  after,  or  about  the  middle  of  April,  Charles 
Moray  stood,  the  acknowledged  master,  in  the  house  which 


TWO    PICTURES.  327 

had  first  received  him  a  gay,  careless  boy.  He  could  not 
be  gay  in  that  first  hour  at  home,  for  there  had  been  another 
arrival  there. 

Hugh  Moray  lay  once  more  within  the  walls  of  his  early 
home,  on  the  soil  he  had  so  loved,  and  for  the  continued 
connection  of  which,  with  his  own  family,  he  had  schemed. 
But  the  busy  brain  schemed  no  more  ;  the  feet,  which  had 
planted  themselves  so  firmly  there,  were  still ;  the  hands 
were  folded  in  a  quietness  never  to  be  broken  till  time 
should  end.  The  stranger  might  lord  it  in  his  halls,  the 
niece,  who  was  nearest  to  him  of  any  living  thing,  might  be 
compelled  to  give  place  to  the  woman  he  had  regarded  with 
contemptuous  indifference  ;  what  mattered  it  to  him  ?  He 
had  done  with  the  relations  of  earth  and  time — there  is  no 
work  nor  device  in  the  grave  whither  he  had  gone. 

There  was  no  grandeur,  no  pomp,  in  these  second  funeral 
rites ;  but  there  were  more  true  mourners  there.  At  night, 
and  by  torchlight,  he  was  borne  by  his  own  people  to  his 
narrow  bed  beside  kindred  dust.  Mr.  Mortimer  and  the 
inheritor  of  his  fortune  followed  next ;  and  then  a  long  pro. 
cession  of  those  whom  he  had  ruled,  and  whose  simple, 
affectionate  natures,  retained  no  memory  but  of  kindness 
from  him.  As  they  wound  their  way  along  the  narrow 
path,  untrodden  for  almost  twenty  years,  the  torches  threw 
a  weird  light  upon  the  old  oaks,  under  whose  shadow  he  and 
his  fathers  had  played,  and  whose  long  gray  moss  swept  his 
coffin,  as  it  passed  along  on  the  shoulders  of  its  bearers. 
The  sighing  wind,  which  swayed  gently  those  giant  branches, 
seemed  to  Charles  Moray  a  fitting  requiem  ;  he  was  startled 
when,  about  midway  their  sad  march,  there  rose  on  the  air 
of  night,  a  wild  mournful  strain,  sung  by  the  blacks.  Those 
who  have  ever  heard  this  people  sing,  will  not  easily  forget 
the  wild  melody  of  their  music,  or  the  readiness  with  which 
they  improvise  words  to  suit  at  once  the  music  and  the 


328  TWO   PICTURES. 

occasion.  The  music  of  this  melancholy  march  required  a 
stanza  of  eight  lines,  four  of  which  were  improvised  by  a 
leader,  while  the  last  four,  in  which  all  joined,  was  a  chorus 
evidently  familiar  on  such  occasions.  One  stanza  of  it  ran 
thus: 

Leader  alone. — "We  carry  we  massa  to  'e  long,  long  sleep, 

Tru  de  trees,  wid  de  torch  a  shinin'  bright, 
An'  we  lef '  him  dare  iii  de  grabe  so  deep 
All  alone  by  hisself  in  de  dark,  dark  night. 

Chorus. — Jesus  hab  open  de  door  in  de  heaben 

Higher  dan  eben  de  eagle  fly, 
And  to  white  wing  angel  de  order  gibcn 
To  carry  'e  soul  clean  up  to  de  sky. 

It  was  an  impressive  scene,  and  one  not  easily  forgot 
ten  ;  and  when,  over  the  grave,  Mr.  Mortimer  breathed  the 
words  of  solemn  prayer,  uttered  with  the  broken  voice  of 
one  who  mourned  his  last  friend,  especially  when  he  asked 
that  "  lie,  in  whose  hands  are  the  hearts  of  all  the  children 
of  men,  would  enable  him  who  was  to  take  the  place  thus 
left  vacant,  so  to  lay  to  heart  this  scene  that  he  should 
remember  his  own  latter  end,  and  live  so  that  he  might 
meet  it  with  a  consciousness  of  having  performed  his  duty 
to  those  whom  God  had  committed  to  his  care,"  Charles 
Moray  thought  the  influence  of  that  hour  would  remain  with 
him  while  he  lived.  lie  thought  of  the  time  when  these 
men  around  him,  or  their  descendants,  might  bear  him  to 
the  same  place,  and  for  the  first  time,  they  presented  them 
selves  to  him  in  another  aspect  than  as  the  representatives 
of  so  much  gold.  He  resolved  to  keep  his  promise  to  Au 
gusta,  and  rejoiced  the  heart  of  good  Mr.  Mortimer  as  they 
walked  back  by  the  light  of  a  single  torch — the  rest  had 
been  extinguished  at  the  grave — by  expressing  his  wish  to 
do  everything  that  he  should  advise  for  the  advantage  of  the 
people,  whom  he  was  now  to  consider  as  his. 


TWO   PICTURES.  329 

Alas  for  human  resolutions  ! 

The  next  week  brought  Mrs.  Moray  ;  and  in  a  vessel  from 
Savannah  came,  nearly  at  the  same  time,  the  boxes  of  furni 
ture,  paper,  &c.,  &c.,  with  an  upholsterer  and  a  head  carpen 
ter,  to  direct  the  workmen  on  the  plantation  in  the  improve 
ments  to  be  made.  All  was  bustle  and  life  at  St.  Mary's, 
where  stillness  had  reigned  so  long.  Charles  Moray  found 
a  friend  or  two  from  the  mainland  always  willing  to  come 
down  and  hunt  or  fish  with  him.  Mrs.  Moray  was  busy 
every  moment  planning  for  the  workmen,  and  sometimes 
aiding,  with  her  own  hands,  the  execution  of  her  designs. 
Even  Mr.  Mortimer  took  some  pleasure  in  arranging  with 
the  aid  of  this  excellent  carpenter,  to  spend  some  part  of  his 
legacy  in  the  improvement  of  the  little  church,  and  more,  in 
fitting  up  a  room  in  his  own  house  very  neatly  for  the  occu 
pancy  of  Augusta  Moray,  whenever  he  could  persuade  her 
to  come  to  it.  The  negroes,  generally,  were  well  pleased, 
proud  of  their  new  master  and  his  works ;  but  Charity 
looked  on  with  a  dissatisfied  air,  and  often  turned  away  with 
streaming  eyes  and  clasped  hands  to  ask,  "  Lord  !  what  has 
dey  done  wid  my  chile  ?  " 

These  exhibitions,  on  her  part,  became  at  length  so  dis 
agreeable  to  Mrs.  Moray,  that  she  insisted  on  her  being  sent 
out  of  the  house  where,  through  all  changes,  she  had  con 
tinued  to  occupy  the  room  which  had  been  Augusta's  from 
her  babyhood. 

"  Send  away  Charity  !  "  cried  Charles  Moray,  with  sur 
prise  ;  "  why,  where  could  I  send  her  to  1 " 

"  Send  her  where  you  please,"  was  the  answer  ;  "  I  should 
think  in  the  field,  to  work,  would  be  a  very  good  place — it 
would  teach  her  to  be  less  impertinent." 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question — I  am  sure  you  do  not 
mean  it ;  Charity  seems  to  me  to  have  a  right  here  almost 
as  good  as  my  own  ;  I  could  not  think  of  sending  her  away." 


330  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Then  you  may  order  the  boat  for  me  to-morrow  morn 
ing  ;  I  will  not  stay  in  the  same  house  with  her." 

"  My  dear  mother  ! "  and  Charlie  tried  to  take  her  hand, 
but  it  was  passionately  snatched  away. 

"  Don't  call  me  your  dear  mother,  when  you  would 
rather  keep  an  old  negro  in  your  house  than  me." 

Charlie  would  have  continued  to  remonstrate,  but,  with 
these  words,  Mrs.  Moray  rushed  out  of  the  room  ;  and  put 
ting  on  his  hat,  he  walked  out  and  took  the  direction  to  Mr. 
Mortimer's. 

How  much  he  told  that  gentleman  of  what,  in  his  own 
mind,  he  called  his  mother's  unreasonableness,  we  know 
not ;  but  that  evening  Mr.  Mortimer  sent  for  Charity  and 
asked  if  she  would  come  and  live  with  him.  At  first  she 
shook  her  head,  saying,  "  I  wrouldn't  hab  no  rejection,  sir, — 
for  de  ole  place  don't  seem  like  heself  no  more ;  but  you 
see,  sir,  ef  I  come  away,  who's  a  going  to  take  care  o'  my 
Miss  'Gusty's  room  ?  " 

"  Why,  Charity,  it  is  for  that  very  thing  I  want  you 
here,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  as  he  opened  the  door  of  the 
room  he  had  just  arranged,  and  showed  her  into  it ;  "  this  is 
Miss  Augusta's  room,  and  when  I  am  gone,  this  will  be  her 
house.  She  will  never  live  up  at  the  big  house  again  ;  and, 
you  know,  she  would  like  to  find  you  here." 

"  In  course,  sir,  I  know  she  would  ;  and  I'll  come,  if 
you'll  let  me  bring  all  de  tings  she  been  left  behind  when 
she  was  gwine." 

Of  course,  a  ready  consent  was  given  to  this  ;  and  the 
next  day  Charity  transferred  thither  not  only  herself  and 
her  own  bedding  and  clothes,  but  the  crib  in  which  her 
nursling  had  once  slept,  the  little  dark  mahogany  bureau,  in 
which  were  still  kept  all  of  her  childish  articles  of  dress, 
which  had  not  been  taken  with  her  ;  the  shells  she  had  gath 
ered  for  her  play,  the  defaced  set  of  cups  and  saucers,  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  331 

broken  doll  and  picture  books — all,  all  were  brought  with 
her  and  arranged,  as  nearly  as  possible,  as  they  had  been  in 
the  old  home.  Amidst  these  mementos  of  the  past,  Charity 
took  her  place,  adding  greatly  to  Mr.  Mortimer's  comfort 
by  her  oversight  of  his  little  household,  and  especially  of 
his  wardrobe,  and  looking  confidently  forward  to  the 
moment  when  Miss  Augusta  should  come  to  take  posses 
sion  of  her  property,  as  Charity  now  considered  Mr.  Morti 
mer's  house  and  all  that  it  contained,  to  be.  She  even  per 
suaded  the  good  man,  who  loved  to  act  upon  her  strong  faith, 
though  he  might  vindicate  his  understanding  to  others,  by 
smiling  at  it  a  little,  to  make  a  flower  garden  before  his 
door,  because  "  Miss  'Gusty  always  loved  flowers." 

And  so,  while  Augusta  was  pining  drearily  in  the  midst 
of  the  isolation  she  had  herself  created,  fond  hearts  were 
building  a  bower  of  rest  for  her  under  the  soft  skies  she 
loved  so  fondly  !  Of  what  happiness  does  self-assertion  de 
fraud  us  even  on  this  side  the  grave  ! 

Late  in  June,  the  "  big  house,"  so  changed  and  so  deco 
rated  that,  as  Charity  said,  "  It  didn't  know  its  own  self,"  was 
again  closed,  while  Charles  Moray  and  his  mother  sought 
health  and  pleasure  in  the  waters  of  Saratoga  and  the 
breezes  of  Newport.  They  returned  early  in  November, 
accompanied  by  Mrs.  and  Miss  Cullen,  and  followed  in  a 
few  days  by  the  Harry  Reardon  of  whom  we  have  already 
heard,  and  by  two  of  those  brainless  inheritors  of  wealth 
who  seem  born  to  disperse  again,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
many,  the  fortune  which  has  been  accumulated  by  some 
more  gifted  progenitor.  In  the  present  case,  however,  the 
ends  of  their  being  appeared  likely  to  be  disappointed.  In 
stead  of  their  fortune  being  dispersed,  there  was  some  ap 
parent  probability  of  their  becoming  united  in  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Reardon.  This  gentleman  was  one  of  those  who  pre 
sent  a  constant  puzzle  to  that  class  of  people  who  interest 


332  TWO   PICTURES. 

themselves  in  their  neighbor's  modes  and  means  of  living, 
lie  had  no  ostensible  fortune,  and  nothing  to  do ;  yet  he  eat 
and  drank  of  the  best,  was  clothed  with  the  finest,  and,  al 
ways  gay  and  entertaining,  found  hosts  of  friends  wherever 
he  went.  To  men  living  in  his  own  circle  it  was  no  secret 
how  Mr.  Rcardon  lived.  When  Charles  Moray  invited  this 
very  agreeable  gentleman  to  come  and  kill  some  of  his 
game  at  St.  Mary's,  he  hardly  understood,  though  others,  it 
might  be,  did,  the  laughing  answer,  "  I'm  afraid  I  sha'n't  find 
any  of  my  game  there,  Mr.  Moray." 

"  We  have  all  sorts  of  game  there,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Have  you  a  billiard  table  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Rcardon. 

"  I  will  have — I  like  billiards  myself." 

"  Who  will  you  have  that  I  can  play  with  ?  " 

"  There's  Briggs  and  Douce  coming  in  November,  and 
several  others  have  promised  before  the  winter  is  over ;  be 
sides,  I  will  play  with  you  myself,  sometimes." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Moray,  but  I  never  play  with  my 
host ;  it  isn't  safe."  Then,  in  an  aside  to  one  of  his  intimates, 
— "  I  might  kill  the  goose  that  lays  the  golden  eggs." 

"  Isn't  safe  1  Why,  you  don't  think  I'd  quarrel  with 
you  for  beating  me  1 "  said  Charlie,  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  it's  a  principle  of  mine.  Every  man 
has  his  principles,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  sha'n't  sacrifice  your  principles  for  me. 
We  shall  both  have  people  enough  to  play  with ;  I'll  take 
care  of  that." 

"  You  may  count  on  me  for  one,  though  I  don't  know  that 
I  shall  add  much  to  your  game ;  I  am  not  much  of  a  shot." 

"  Then  I  will  promise  you  some  capital  misses"  and 
Charlie's  laugh  showed  that  he  had  perpetrated  a  pun,  which 
might  otherwise  have  escaped  detection. 

"  I  understand  Miss  Cullen  is  to  be  one  of  them,"  said 
Mr.  Reardon. 


TWO   PICTURES.  333 

"  Yes,  so  my  mother  says  ;  do  you  admire  her  ?  " 

"  I  should,  if  I  could  afford  it ;  she  is  the  most  piquant 
woman  I  know/' 

In  such  a  society  we  need  hardly  describe  the  mode  of 
life.  All  were  bent  on  killing  that  time  which  it  is  the  part 
of  the  wise  to  redeem.  Around  them  lay  the  noblest  work 
ever  allotted  to  man,  waiting  to  be  done ;  the  great  Task 
master  who  had  made  the  work  for  them  and  them  for  the 
work,  waited,  gave  them  time,  hour  by  hour,  day  by  day, — 
waited,  and  they  rattled  dice,  knocked  about  smooth,  shining 
balls  over  a  green  cloth,  handled  painted  cards,  danced, 
rode,  and  yawned  wearily,  wondering  what  they  should  do 
next  to  get  rid  of  the  time  so  mercifully  given. 

Christmas  came.  Its  approach  gave  promise  of  jollity 
to  all  but  Mrs.  Moray.  She  was  very  evidently  depressed 
— she  could  not  hide  it ;  indeed,  she  did  not  seek  to  hide  it ; 
she  edified  all  her  acquaintances  by  declaring  that  she  was 
very  sad  thinking  of  "  dear  Mr.  Moray,"  whom  this  season 
brought  strongly  to  her  mind.  Why  this  should  be  so 
might  seem  mysterious  to  her  guests,  did  seem  mysterious 
to  Mr.  Mortimer,  who  knew  that  she  had  never  spent  a 
Christmas  at  St.  Mary's  with  Mr.  Moray  ;  but  will  be  un 
derstood  by  the  reader,  who  remembers  that  Mr.  Saville 
had  threatened  to  eat  his  Christmas  dinner  with  her.  As  she 
believed  him  to  be  approaching,  the  Gorgon's  head,  which 
looked  dimly  forth  from  the  gayest  scenes  into  which  she  en 
tered,  grew  more  distinct  and  terrible.  The  day  before 
Christmas  brought  her  a  letter,  "  From  our  kind  friend 
Saville,  Charlie — he  cannot  come  now  ;  indeed,  he  says  it 
may  be  February  before  he  can  be  spared." 

"  I  am  sorry  ;  capital  fellow,  Saville — so  kind  ;  though  he 
has  so  much  to  do  already,  is  willing  to  undertake  all  sorts 
of  unpleasant  business  for  a  friend." 

Harry   Reardon   smiled — Charlie   wondered   what    the 


331  TWO   PICTURES. 

smile  meant,  but  only  for  a  moment.  Reardon  caught  his 
look  of  inquiry,  and  soon  diverted  his  thoughts  to  other 
subjects. 

The  Gorgon  head  retreated,  and  Mrs.  Moray  was  gay 
once  more. 

"  I  don't  understand  her,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen  to  her 
daughter ;  "  it  seemed  strange  that  she  should  be  so  gloomy 
about  this  Mr.  Moray,  who  was  a  very  distant  relation,  if 
he  was  any  at  all ;  especially  as  she  thought  it  foolish  in 
her  son  to  stop  our  dancing  for  one  week,  at  the  time  his 
own  uncle  died." 

"  But,  my  dear  mamma !  How  could  you  be  surprised 
at  that  1  why,  Commodore  Moray  didn't  have  a  doit  to  leave 
to  any  one — how  could  he  expect  people  to  be  sorry  ? 
Now,  when  one  is  paid  generously  for  mourning — " 

"  Hush,  Elise !  you  get  such  a  sharp  way  of  talking, 
you  will  make  everybody  afraid  of  you." 

"  Not  everybody  ;  it  would  take  something  more  than 
a  sharp  tongue  to  make  that  rogue,  Harry  Reardon,  afraid. 
I  don't  believe  he  fears  anything  alive,  or  dead  either,  in 
deed." 

Mrs.  Cullen  did  not  like  a  certain  little  glow  and  sparkle 
about  her  daughter,  as  this  was  said. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  getting  up  any  intimacy  with 
Harry  Reardon.  His  "gambling  is  really  becoming  quite 
disreputable ;  I  have  no  doubt,  from  the  melancholy  look 
of  that  poor  Douce,  that  he  went  away  from  here  quite 
cleaned  out." 

"  Well,  if  people  will  fancy  they  can  play  when  they 
can't,  what  is  Mr.  Reardon  to  do?  I  think  he  is  very 
honorable,  for  my  part,  in  refusing  to  play  with  Charlie 
Moray.  This  estate,  and  those  '  loves  of  negroes,'  as  that 
simpering  Miss  Mills  calls  them,  would  soon  be  his,  if  he 
did." 


TWO   PICTURES.  o^O 

"Simpering  or  not,  Miss  Mills  understands  her  interests 
better  than  you  seem  to  do  yours  ;  and  I  should  not  wonder 
if  she  was  soon  in  a  position  to  offer  you  an  invitation  to 
spend  the  next  winter  here  with  her." 

"  Poh !  don't  you  believe  it ;  Charlie  Moray's  not  so 
spooney  as  all  that.  He  does  know  a  thing  or  two  ;  I  am  a 
great  deal  more  afraid  of  that  cousin  of  his,  who  was  thought 
such  a  beauty  in  Washington." 

"  Why  !  they  don't  even  know  where  she  is,"  cried  Mrs. 
Cullcn. 

"  They  didn't  know.  It  seems  her  madness — Harry 
Reardon  says  we  are  all  mad  about  something — her  mad 
ness  is  of  the  romantic  style ;  she  wouldn't  be  dependent 
on  her  friends,  forsooth  !  as  if  there  was  anything  else  for 
a  lady  to  do,  when  she  has  no  fortune — so  she  went  off  to 
be  a  governess.  Of  course,  she  soon  got  sick  of  that ; 
Charlie  Moray  has  just  heard  that  she  is  with  some  cousin 
or  aunt  of  his,  and  has  written  to  ask  her  here  ;  though,  he 
says,  he  is  half  afraid  to  tell  his  mother  about  it,  for  they 
are  not  very  good  friends,  it  seems." 

"  I  think  that  shows  Charles  Moray  to  be  very  amiable," 
said  Mrs.  Cullen,  who  lost  no  opportunity  of  praising  the 
possessor  of  such  a  fortune. 

"  He  is  soft-hearted,  I  think ;  but  nobody  gets  much 
good  from  it ;  he's  never  of  the  same  mind  two  minutes 
together.  Why,  before  we  came  here,  he  had  promised  that 
old  Mr.  Mortimer  to  have  plantation  schools  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ;  and  now  his  mother  and  Harry  Rear  don  have 
laughed  him  out  of  the  notion.  It  was  a  silly  notion,  to  be 
sure,  and,  as  Harry  Reardon  says,  would  only  have  made 
the  negroes  discontented  with  their  situation,  whereas  now 
they  are  the  happiest  laboring  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  ;  but  I  like  to  see  a  man  carry  out  his  own  notions,  if 
they  are  silly.  I  like  to  see  people  consistent." 
15 


TWO    PICTURES. 

"  My  dear !  I  heard  some  very  great  man,  1  don't 
remember  his  name,  but  he  was  one  of  those  men  that  are 
so  wise  nobody  understands  them,  say  that  '  consistency 
was  the  mark  of  a  little,  narrow  mind.'  I  remember  it 
because  your  poor,  dear  father  had  often  accused  me  of 
being  inconsistent,  and  it  was  such  a  good  answer." 

"  That  you  used  it,  I  dare  say." 

"  Certainly  I  did,  and  your  father  said,  I  remember, 
then  I  had  a  very  large  mind." 

"  So  must  Charlie  Moray  have.  Poor  fellow  !  he  has 
sometimes  as  much  difficulty  as  ^Esop's  old  man  had  with 
his  ass.  I  was  sorry  for  him,  this  morning,  when  Mr.  Mor 
timer  found  him  giving  out  the  rum  to  the  negroes  instead 
of  the  molasses  and  coffee  and  sugar,  and  I  don't  know  what 
else,  that  he  had  promised  him  to  give  in  its  place." 

"  "Well !  I  think  it  was  very  unkind  in  Mr.  Mortimer  to 
wish  them  not  to  have  it.  It's  hard  to  grudge  them  this  one 
jollification  in  the  year." 

"  They'll  have  a  double  allowance  of  rum  this  year ; 
Harry  Rcardon  made  Charlie  Moray  give  it." 

And  so  had  Charlie  Moray  kept  his  resolutions  and  his 
promises ! 

This  conversation  will  give  the  reader  a  sufficiently  cor 
rect  idea  of  life  in  the  "  big  house."  To  amuse  one's  self  in 
the  present — so  to  take  care  of  one's  interest  as  to  secure 
the  means  of  amusing  one's  self  in  the  future — these  are  the 
two  great  commandments  of  this  class  of  people.  Unfor 
tunately  they  can  never  perfectly  attain  their  end ;  for  even 
with  them,  there  lingers  some  feeble  spark  of  those  aspir 
ings  after  the  Infinite,  which  the  whole  earth  would  fail  to 
satisfy. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


"And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  her  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way."— GOLDSMITH. 


"  THE  whole  earth  would  fail  to  satisfy,"  we  wrote,  and 
yet  ever  we  turn  from  one  object  to  another,  believing  that 
we  have  at  last  found  the  panacea.  Once  the  cry  of  Augusta 
Moray's  heart  had  been  "  Home !  Home  !  "  the  green  shades, 
the  blue  sky  of  St.  Mary's  !  In  these  she  could  die  content. 
Die  content,  perchance ;  but  not  live  so. 

Little  content  was  in  her  heart  when  she  bade  Esther 
and  Hugh  adieu,  on  the  deck  of  the  packet  to  which  they  had 
accompanied  her  ;  and  her  sad,  almost  pleading  eyes,  as  he 
turned  on  the  wharf  to  wave  his  hajid  once  more  to  her, 
were  present  to  Hugh  that  day  in  scenes  that  were  strange 
ly  out  of  harmony  with  such  memories,  and  caused  him 
once  even  to  lose  a  point  in  the  argument  of  the  opposing 
counsel. 

Love  presents  itself  under  many  aspects  ;  and  in  saying 
this,  we  mean  a  genuine  love,  not  its  counterfeits,  which  are 
innumerable.  There  is  a  love  born  of  what  is  bright  and 
beautiful  in  its  object,  which  lives  and  grows  only  in  that 
brightness  and  beauty  ;  there  is  a  love,  which  takes  root 
only  in  strong  and  noble  souls,  which  is  mellowed  into 


338  TWO  ncTUKES. 

deeper  tenderness  and  nourished  into  more  vigorous  life,  by 
the  sorrows  and  necessities  of  its  object.  Such  was  the  love 
of  Hugh  Moray.  Augusta,  proud,  gay,  admired,  might  be 
relinquished,  not  without  a  pang — perhaps  a  life-long  pang — - 
but  Augusta  in  sorrow,  Augusta  forsaken  by  the  flatterers 
of  her  summer  days,  had  a  hold  on  his  generous  heart 
strong  as  his  own  life.  She  walked  mute  and  sad  by  his 
side ;  her  face  threw  its  shadow  on  his  page  and,  as  he 
thought  of  her  return  to  St.  Mary's,  under  such  altered  cir 
cumstances,  of  the  coldness,  perhaps  the  malignity,  she 
might  meet  there,  he  could  scarcely  resist  the  desire  to  fol 
low  her,  and,  if  he  might  not  win  her  within  the  safe  shelter 
of  his  love,  at  least  to  show  her  enemies  that  they  could  not 
strike  at  her  with  impunity. 

The  packet,  in  which  Augusta  sailed,  arrived  in  Savan 
nah  in  the  night.  The  moon  was  still  shining  brightly  on" 
the  sandy  bluff,  and  the  long,  low  stores  under  it,  when  she 
dressed  herself,  and  wrapping  a  shawl  around  her,  went  on 
deck,  to  breathe  once  more  the  soft  air  of  those  southern 
skies,  beneath  which  her  life  began.  That  air  does  not  in 
vigorate,  but  it  heals — it  docs  not  give  strength  to  resist, 
but  it  induces  a  languor  which,  like  an  opiate,  seems  to  lull 
the  senses  to  forgetfulness,  and  so  to  steal  from  sorrow  half 
its  bitterness.  At  least  so  felt  Augusta  on  this  night. 
Earth  seemed  very  sad  and  lonely  to  her,  Its  glory  had 
departed,  but  its  storms  also  had  past ;  she  said  to  herself, 
"  I  have  nothing  more  to  lose,"  and  with  a  languid  despon 
dency,  which  she  called  resignation,  she  believed  herself  rec 
onciled  to  walk  henceforth  in  the  shadow. 

Poor  child ! — for  a  child,  notwithstanding  her  twenty 
years  of  life,  she  yet  was — how  little  allied  was  this  sensa 
tion,  born  of  these  soft  airs  acting  on  a  mind  wearied  by  its 
own  frantic  efforts  to  rise  above  a  humiliating  sorrow  and 
on  a  body  debilitated  by  illness — how  little  allied  was  this  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  339 

the  resignation  which  finds  some  sweetness  in  the  bitterest 
cup  that  Divine  Love  has  mixed,  and  when  earth  is  all 
gloom,  rejoices  the  more  in  the  brightness  of  heaven.  As 
yet,  the  eyes  of  Augusta  were  determinately  fixed  on  the 
earth, — to  the  heavenly  glory  which  yet  shone  around  her, 
she  was  blind. 

The  day  had  scarcely  dawned,  when  Mr.  Mortimer,  hav 
ing  been  told  by  one  of  the  waiters  at  the  hotel,  whom  he  had 
bribed  to  bring  him  the  earliest  news  of  the  Isabel's  arrival, 
that  she  lay  at  the  wharf,  rose  and  hastened  thither  in  a  car 
riage.  Augusta  had  not  expected  him,  yet  the  first  glance  at 
the  white  locks  and  the  venerable  face,  unseen  for  nine  years, 
was  enough  ;  and  the  languid  step,  with  which  she  was  still 
pacing  the  deck,  quickened,  as  she  stepped  forward  to  meet 
him.  There  was  no  recognition  in  his  eye,  as  it  rested 
.upon  her. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Mortimer  !  "  she  exclaimed,  drawing  near 
him  with  an  outstretched  hand,  "  do  you  not  remember 
me?" 

"  My  child  !  my  dear  child  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  folded  her 
in  his  arms,  and  pressed  a  fatherly  kiss  upon  her  cheek  ; 
then,  holding  her  off  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  examine  her 
more  fully,  he  drew  her  silently  to  him  and  kissed  her  cheek 
again.  They  could  not  speak  again  for  some  minutes. 
Thoughts  of  the  past  were  swelling  the  hearts  of  each  almost 
to  suffocation.  Mr.  Mortimer  first  recovered  his  voice,  and 
said,  with  a  little  huskiness  in  his  tone,  and  with  a  smile 
that  gleamed  through  tears,  "  You  were  a  good  child  to 
come — Charity  and  1  will  grow  young  again  in  the  delight 
of  seeing  you." 

Augusta  looked  up  to  smile  ;  but  the  dear,  kind  face,  the 
familiar  voice,  the  old,  unchanged  love  expressed  in  both, 
were  too  much  for  her ;  and  dropping  her  face  into  her 
clasped  hands,  and  yielding  to  the  fatherly  caress,  which 


34:0  TWO    riCTUKES. 

drew  her  to  his  side,  she  rested  her  head  upon  his  shoul 
der  and  wept  there  silently  and  long,  soothed  by  an  occa 
sional  word  of  tenderness. 

Charles  Moray  had  always  intended  to  meet  Augusta  in 
Savannah  till  the  time  of  her  arrival  drew  near,  when  he 
was  easily  persuaded  that  it  would  be  better  to  send  Mr. 
Mortimer  for  her,  and  to  stay  at  home  himself  and  assist  his 
mother  in  the  entertainment  of  the  guests,  with  which  she 
had,  somewhat  inopportunely,  filled  the  house  just  at  this 
time. 

"  You  can  go  up  in  the  boat  for  her,  you  know — that  is, 
if  you  really  think  it  necessary  to  meet  her  at  all,"  said 
Mrs.  Moray  to  him. 

"  Necessary  to  meet  her !     Certainly,  I  think  it  neces 
sary," — Charlie  was  always  very  decided  in  words — "  I  wish 
Augusta  to  feel  that  she  is  coming  home,  and  we  must  both* 
do  everything  we  can  to  inspire  her  with  such  a  feeling." 

"  Then  1  had  better  hold  myself  in  readiness  to  depart ; 
you  know  she  has  declared  she  will  not  make  her  home 
where  I  am." 

"  Words  spoken  in  a  moment  of  passion,  and  forgotten, 
I  dare  say,  as  soon  as  said." 
"  1  do  not  believe  it." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  will  forget  them,  for  my  sake ; " 
Charlie  bent  down  and  kissed  his  mother's  cheek,  as  he 
added,  "  we  can  afford  to  be  generous." 

"  Like  a  foolish  mother,  I  will  do  just  what  you  say ;  but 
I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  this  affair  just  as  I  do  ;  depend 
upon  it,  it  will  be  better  for  all  parties  that  Augusta  Moray 
should  stay  at  Mr.  Mortimer's — he  wants  her." 

"  And  so  d6  I  want  my  cousin,"  said  Charlie,  with  a 
flushed  face. 

"  You  must  like  tragedy  better  than  I,  if  you  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Moray,  with  an  emphatic  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "  No, 


TWO   PICTURES.  34:1 

Charlie !  I  do  not  want  her  ;  I  do  not  want  to  have  our 
pleasant  coterie  here  broken  up  by  her  foolish  conceits  and 
mad  suspicions,  and  I  cannot  pretend  to  want  it — I  am  no 
hypocrite." 

"  But,  pardon  me,  if  I  say  you  are  acting  upon  what  are 
only  conceits  and  suspicions  yourself." 

"  You  are  mistaken  ;  I  am  speaking  of  what  I  know ; 
and  I  tell  you,  when  she  comes  into  this  house,  all  pleasure 
is  at  an  end  ;  her  black  robes  and  sombre  face,  if  they  do 
not  frighten  your  friends  away,  will  at  least  make  them  feel 
all  gayety  to  be  out  of  place  in  her  presence." 

This  was  not  an  alluring  prospect  to  one  of  Charlie's 
temperament ;  and  remembering  Augusta's  last  days  at 
Washington,  he  could  not  deny  that  his  mother  had  some 
reason  for  her  apprehensions ;  yet  lie  still  insisted  that  the 
invitation  should  be  given.  He  wished  very  much  that  it 
should  be  given  by  his  mother,  as  well  as  by  himself — he 
made  quite  a  point  of  this — '  if  she  would  write  a  note  to 
Augusta,  so  would  he ;  and  he  would  send  them  both  by 
the  boatmen  ;  for,  after  all,  it  was  not  necessary  that  he 
should  go  in  the  boat,  as  Mr.  Mortimer  would  be  with  Au 
gusta.'  Mrs.  Moray  did  not  let  him  see  her  smile,  though 
smile  she  did,  at  this  abatement  in  his  view  of  Augusta's 
claims.  She  saw  that  she  had  touched  the  right  chord,  that 
Charlie  was  beginning  to  fear  lest  Augusta  should  stand  in 
his  sunlight. 

The  two  notes  were  written ;  and  really,  that  of  Mrs. 
Moray  seemed  the  more  cordial  of  the  two.  They  ran  thus : 

"  DEAR  AUGUSTA  : 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  go  for  you  myself;  but  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  get  away.  I  know  Mr.  Mortimer 
will  do  everything  for  your  comfort.  Eemember,  however, 
that  your  home  is  with  us>  not  with  him.  I  received  his 


34:2  TWO   PICTURES. 

letter  announcing  your  arrival  in  Savannah,  this  morning, 
and  I  send  the  boat  immediately,  with  orders  to  the  men  tc 
await  your  coming  and  be  subject  to  your  commands. 
"  Believe  me,  ever, 

"  Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"  C.  MORAY. 

"  ST.  MART'S,  Feb." 

"  And  so,  my  poor  Augusta,  you  are  once  more  in  your 
native  State  and  on  your  way  to  the  home  of  your  child 
hood.  You  will  find  things  greatly  changed — I  hope  you 
will  find  all  the  changes,  improvements.  We  left  your  own 
particular  room  long  untouched,  dear,  hoping  that  you  would 
come  to  order  your  own  alterations  ;  but  you  gave  us  no 
hope,  and  at  last  we  refitted  and  refurnished  it,  much  to 
your  old  nurse's  annoyance.  It  is  very  pretty.  At  present 
it  is  occupied  by  Mrs.  and  Miss  Cullen.  I  wish  they  had 
gone  away  in  time  for  us  to  prepare  it  for  you  ;  but,  the 
truth  is,  our  visitors  all  find  St.  Mary's  so  pleasant,  that  I 
believe  nothing  but  the  heat  of  summer,  or  the  dread  of 
fever,  will  drive  them  away.  I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  see 
you,  dear,  and  to  have  a  little  rational  conversation  once 
more.  From  the  oldest  to  the  youngest  here,  all  seem 
equally  mad  in  their  pursuit  of  pleasure.  I  am  quite 
weary  of  the  click  of  the  billiard  balls  all  day,  and  the  sound 
of  music  and  dancing  all  night.  They  have  driven  good  Mr. 
Mortimer  away  from  us  altogether.  Tell  him  that  I  know 
he  will  come  to  see  you,  and  so  I  shall  be  doubly  a  gainer 
by  your  residence  with  us.  Only  think  of  his  expending  so 
much  money  on  his  house  with  the  hope  of  making  it  a 
pleasant  home  to  you.  1  was  quite  touched  when  I  heard 
it.  But  I  cannot  spare  you  to  him  ;  so  come  quickly,  dear 
Augusta,  to  the  home  and  the  heart  of 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  A.  MORAT. 

"  ST.  MAST'S  ISLE,  February  5&.  18—." 


TWO   PICTURES.  3i3 

If  Mrs.  Moray  really  desired  to  secure  Augusta  to  her 
self,  she  had  certainly  been  peculiarly  infelicitous  in  her 
mode  of  presenting  the  attractions  of  her  house. 

"  She  knew  that,  if  I  had  entertained  any  design  of  going 
to  her  house,  such  a  letter  would  have  prevented  it,"  said 
Augusta,  as,  with  something  of  the  hot  spirit  of  her  child 
hood  burning  on  her  cheeks  and  flashing  from  her  eyes,  she 
handed  the  note  to  Mr.  Mortimer. 

"  I  am  glad  of  the  result,  my  child ;  but  you  must  not 
be  too  hard  on  this  silly  woman.  This  is  her  way  of  being 
happy  ;  and  you  know  she  could  not  be  expected  to  feel  to 
your  dear  uncle  as  we  did." 

"  My  uncle !  ah,  true !  Some  respect  was  certainly  due 
to  his  memory  in  the  house  which  they  owe  to  his  bounty ; 
but  it  was  not  of  him  I  thought.  Oh,  sir !  if  you  had 
known  Commodore  Moray,  you  would  wonder  with  me  how 
one  so  gentle,  so  noble,  could  be  so  soon  forgotten.  In  his 
home — " 

Augusta  had  spoken  with  effort  from  the  time  she  named 
her  dear  old  friend,  and  here  her  voice  failed  entirely,  and 
she  burst  into  tears. 

Mr.  Mortimer  let  her  weep  in  silence  for  a  moment ; 
then,  intent  on  his  charitable  design  of  peace  making,  he 
said,  "  We  are  all  frail,  human  creatures,  and  must  make 
allowance  for  each  other's  errors,  my  dear.  It  may  be  that 
your  friends  err  by  nourishing  a  gloom  which  is  incompat 
ible  with  the  cheerful  resignation  that  our  Heavenly  Father 
has  a  right  to  expect  from  us." 

"  Gloom !  oh  no,  sir !  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken. 
Nothing  can  be  farther  from  the  truth  than  that  word. 
They  are  peaceful,  even  cheerful — thankful  for  his  noble  life. 
But  they  cannot,  they  do  not  desire  to  forget,  and  in  the 
presence  of  that  memory,  how  can  they  be  gay  ?  Mrs. 
Commodore  Moray  herself  said  to  a  friend,  who  urged  them 


344  TWO   PICTURES. 

to  visit, '  We  have  been  brought  too  near  heaven  to  find 
much  enjoyment  yet  in  earthly  pleasures.'  Surely  this  is 
not  gloom." 

"  No,  my  child,  you  are  right — this  is  peace  ;  but  I  am 
afraid  it  passeth  the  understanding  of  this  poor  lady,  so  we 
must  not  blame  her  that  she  does  not  entertain  it." 

A  glowing  sunset  was  turning  the  still  waters  of  the 
sound  to  molten  gold  as  Augusta  neared  the  home  she  had 
so  dearly  loved.  A  breeze  as  soft  and  warm  as  that  of  a 
summer  evening  rustled  the  leaves  of  the  old  oak  at  the 
landing  place,  which  threw  its  lengthening-  shadow  far  out 
upon  the  water,  as  if  to  meet  and  welcome  her,  and,  as  she 
stepped  on  the  green  shore,  a  mocking  bird  trilled  out  its 
glorious  song  above  her  head.  The  scene,  the  sounds,  the 
very  touch  and  odor  of  the  soft  air,  woke  a  thousand  mem 
ories,  sweet  and  sad.  Words  are  powerless,  even  if  words 
were  possible  at  such  a  time.  Augusta  did  not  attempt 
them,  though  deep  down  in  her  heart,  "  My  home !  my 
home !  "  went  sounding  on  through  every  variety  of  tone 
and  tune,  gladsome  or  sad.  Yes,  it  was  her  home  by  a  tie 
which  no  human  power  could  dissolve — hers  as  it  could 
never  be  another's — a  part  of  her  life. 

Accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  exuberant  emotional  nature 
of  the  African  race  and  their  uncontrolled  expression  of  feel 
ing,  Mr.  Mortimer  was  touched  almost  to  tears  by  Charity's 
reception  of  her  former  nurseling,  as,  kneeling  before  her, 
she  covered  her  hands  with  kisses,  and  even,  before  Augusta 
could  prevent  it,  bent  down  and  pressed  her  lips  to  her  feet, 
exclaiming,  "  My  own  chile  !  my  own  Miss  'Gusty  !  Please 
Farra,  1  is  ready  for  go,  now  I  see  your  face  once  more." 

She  seemed  never  weary  of  gazing  at  her,  noting  with  an 
outspoken  admiration,  which  often  gave  a  richer  glow  to  the 
complexion  she  so  much  admired,  the  regal  beauty  into 
which  her  childish  promise  had  developed 


TWO   PICTURES.  345 

"  Just  see  how  'e  step  !  "  she  would  exclaim  to  some  com 
panion,  as  they  stood  together,  watching  her  receding  form, 
as  she  walked  under  the  old  oaks  to  some  of  her  childish 
haunts,  where  she  thought  herself  in  little  danger  of  meeting 
any  of  Mrs.  Moray's  gay  visitors,  "  It  seem  like  her  foot 
neber  tetch  de  ground.  Dat  Miss  Moray  to  de  building 
would  gib  all  'e  money  to  be  han'some  as  my  Miss  'Gusty." 

"  I  bin  tought  she  an'  me  young  maussa  bin  gwine  to 
married." 

"  You  young  maussa ! "  said  Charity,  with  an  expres- 
sion  of  the  most  withering  contempt  in  voice  and  look ; 
*'  you  young  maussa !  when  my  Miss  'Gusty  married,  'e'll 
married  somebody  what  can  hab  'tority.  You  young  maus. 
sa !  "  and  Charity  turned  away  indignantly. 

And  Charity's  criticism  would  have  been  accepted  by 
Charles  Moray's  best  friends  and  greatest  admirers.  He 
was  certainly  not  one  who  exercised  authority  over  other 
minds.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  bent  and  swayed  by  every 
passing  influence. 

When  his  boatmen  returned,  bringing  him  a  pencilled 
note  from  Augusta,  asking  that  he  would  come  and  see  her 
at  Mr.  Mortimer's,  whose  quiet  home  suited  her  better  in 
her  present  state  of  health,  he  was  just  leading  Mrs.  Cullen 
to  the  six  o'clock  dinner,  which  Mrs.  Moray  had  introduced, 
to  the  great  annoyance  of  cooks  and  waiters,  accustomed  to 
the  unfashionably  early  hour  of  three. 

"  Augusta  has  come,"  he  said  to  his  mother,  who  passed 
him  at  the  moment. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  lady,  while  a  cloud  gathered  on  her 
brow  ;  "  she  will  hardly  care  to  join  us  to-day  ;  I  will — " 

"  Oh,  she  is  at  Mr.  Mortimer's.  I  shall  go  to  see  her 
after  dinner.  Suppose  you  leave  Mrs.  Cullen  to  do  the 
honors  of  the  tea  table,  and  go  with  me  1 " 

me;  I  do  not  choose  to  expose  myself  unneces- 


34.6  TWO   PICTURES. 

sarily  to  rudeness.  I  did  my  duty  in  inviting  her  here ;  as 
she  has  not  accepted  or  replied  to  the  invitation — " 

"  She  has  replied  to  mine." 

"  That  only  makes  the  rudeness  to  me  more  marked." 

"  You  ladies  are  such  sticklers  for  etiquette,"  said 
Charles  to  Mrs.  Cullen,  as  he  seated  her  on  his  right  hand 
at  the  round  table,  which  "\vas  another  of  Mrs.  Moray's  in 
novations. 

"  You  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  this  seems  to  me 
more  than  a  point  of  etiquette,  Mr.  Moray  ;  I  have  heard 
that  Miss  Moray  was  a  little  eccentric;  I  think  this  looks 
like  it ;  to  treat  the  mother  with  such  disrespect,  and  yet 
expect  to  maintain  friendly  relations  with  the  son." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Mrs.  Cullen;  of  Miss  Mo 
ray,  who  was  the  belle  of  Washington  a  wrinter  or  two  ago  ? 
By  George  !  what  an  air  she  had !  the  handsomest  woman  I 
ever  saw — and  the  haughtiest,"  he  added,  in  a  low  tone,  to 
Miss  Cullen,  "  so  the  poison  carried  its  antidote." 

The  depreciating  words  were  met  by  a  smile  ;  but  none 
the  less  did  Miss  Cullen  remember  the  superlative  of  the 
commendation  and  resolve  to  exert  all  her  fascinations  that 
this  haughty  beauty  should  not  win  one  adorer  from  her 
circle.  Gifted  herself  with  an  energetic  spirit,  she  had  felt 
something  very  like  contempt  for  the  easy  good  nature  of 
Charles  Moray,  and  spite  of  her  mother's  exhortations,  had 
refused  to  make  any  effort  to  win  the  heart  which  she  be 
lieved  at  any  time  within  her  power.  Now,  that  it  might 
be  in  danger,  she  was  roused  to  exertion,  and  from  the  mo 
ment  he  left  the  table,  when  she  entreated  him  just  to  stop 
for  five  minutes  and  let  her  hear  the  end  of  that  story  he  was 
telling  her  mamma  at  table,  of  which  she  had  just  caught 
enough  to  interest  her,  and  which  nobody  could  tell  so  well 
as  himself,  to  that  in  which,  starting  from  the  piano  as  with 
silvery  tones  the  mantle  clock  rung  forth  eleven  tiny  strokes, 


TWO   PICTURES.  347 

she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Moray,  eleven  o'clock  !  and  I  have 
kept  you  singing  all  this  time  !  Well,  indeed,  you  must  lay 
the  blame  on  your  own  delightful  voice,"  she  devoted  her 
self  to  him  unceasingly. 

Had  her  mode  of  attack  been  the  display  of  her  own  at 
tractions,  Charles  Moray  might  have  broken  from  her  snares ; 
but  many  a  man  of  stronger  spirit  than  his,  has  submitted 
unresistingly  to  the  more  delicate  and  more  potent  flattery 
of  one  who  draws  out  his  powers  to  charm  rather  than  ex 
hibits  her  own.  Certain  it  is,  though  Harry  Eeardon  cast 
many  a  smiling  glance  at  the  pair  as  they  talked,  waltzed, 
or  sung  together,  Charles  Moray's  perceptions  were  only  of 
a  very  pleasant  evening  which  had  slipped  away  so  unac 
countably  fast  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  visit  Augusta,  as 
he  had  fully  intended  to  do. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  as  well ;  my  mother  would  have  looked 
like  a  thunder  cloud  all  the  evening,  and  spoiled  everybody's 
sport  here,  if  she  had  seen  me  go ;  now,  I  can  breakfast  with 
Mr.  Mortimer  and  Augusta  in  the  morning,  before  a  soul 
here  is  up."  It  was  a  well-arranged  plan,  but  as  Charles 
was  not  himself  an  early  riser,  he  slept  the  next  morning 
till  the  breakfast  bell  informed  him  that  he  would  find  the 
whole  party  collected  below  stairs,  while  he  was  two  hours 
too  late  for  Mr.  Mortimer's  early  breakfast.  After  break 
fast,  Miss  Cullen  urged  the  accomplishment  of  a  promise 
carelessly  made  many  weeks  before,  that  she  should  see  a 
deer  hunt,  to  which  Mrs.  Cullen  would  consent  only  on  the 
condition  that  he  would  promise  to  give  his  undivided  care 
to  her  daughter.  So  much  was  said  of  Charles's  perfect 
command  of  his  spirited  horse,  and  of  his  wonderful  accu 
racy  in  shooting,  that  the  sport  assumed  new  attractions  for 
him,  and  again  Augusta's  claims  were  postponed.  Indeed, 
he  can  scarcely  be  blamed  if  she  was  forgotten  altogether, 
as  he  swept  over  the  green  savannas  to  the  inspiriting  music 


348  TWO   PICTUKES. 

of  the  hounds  as  they  pursued  with  fleet  steps  and  unerring 
scent  the  monarch  of  the  sylvan  scene,  who  bounded  away 
far  in  the  distance,  through  low  brushwood,  or  grass,  above 
which,  at  every  bound,  rose  his  branching  antlers,  while  be 
side  him,  as  eager  in  the  chase  as  he,  rode  a  young  and 
handsome  woman,  her  eye  kindling,  her  cheek  glowing  with 
excitement. 

The  hunt  was  ended ;  the  deer  lay  bleeding  before  them  ; 
and  now  they  turned,  at  a  more  moderate  pace,  homeward. 
The  path  they  pursued  led  them  near  Mr.  Mortimer's. 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Moray  yet  1  "  asked  Miss  Cullen, 
as  she  glanced  at  the  simple  yet  pretty  parsonage,  embow 
ered  in  oak. 

"  No ;  I  have  not  been  at  leisure  one  moment  since  I 
heard  of  her  arrival,"  said  Charlie,  reddening  with  a  slight 
consciousness  that  the  excuse  was  scarcely  valid. 

"  That  is  my  fault,"  said  the  lady,  while  the  smile  that 
played  around  her  mouth  showed  that  she  did  not  consider 
the  fault  unpardonable ;  "  I  will  not  be  answerable  any 
longer  for  such  neglect ;  you  must  call  immediately." 

"  And  leave  you  to  make  your  way  home  alone  1  Au 
gusta  would  be  the  last  one  to  pardon  me  for  such  a  depar 
ture  from  les  bienseances" 

"  There  need  be  no  departure  at  all ;  I  shall  go  with 
you  ;  of  course,  I  intend  to  call  on  your  cousin." 

She  wheeled  her  horse  into  the  little  cross  road  which 
they  were  just  passing,  as  she  spoke,  and  Charles  followed, 
with  the  doubt  whether  it  was  quite  the  thing  to  bring  a 
stranger  to  call  in  such  an  informal  manner  upon  Augusta, 
contending  in  his  heart  with  the  relief  from  the  dread  of  this 
first  interview,  which  the  presence  of  another  would  afford 
him. 

Augusta  was  standing  in  the  piazza,  trying,  with  Mr. 
Mortimer's  aid,  to  train  the  wild  jessamine  and  rosa  multi- 


TWO   PICTURES.  349 

flora,  now  both  in  bud,  to  wind  around  the  rude  columns, 
formed  of  pine  trees  denuded  of  branches  and  bark,  and  to 
meet  in  an  arch  above  the  entrance.  The  glow  of  healthful 
exercise  mantled  in  her  cheek,  and  as  she  stood  on  the  light 
steps  used  by  Mr.  Mortimer  in  mounting  to  the  upper 
shelves  of  his  study,  and  looked  smilingly  down  upon  him 
and  Charity,  who  were  busy  disentangling  the  hitherto  un 
trained  branches  and  handing  them  to  her,  or  winding  them 
around  the  columns  at  her  suggestion,  Charles  thought  he 
had  never  seen  her  look  more  beautiful,  in  spite  of  the 
gloomy  black  which  enveloped  her  from  the  tapering  neck 
to  the  slender,  arched  foot.  The  riders  came  up  rapidly, 
and  the  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  on  the  firm  earth  was  heard 
while  yet  they  were  at  a  distance. 

Charity  was  the  first  to  see  them,  as,  turning,  she  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  peered  out  into  the  half  sun-lit 
and  half  shadowed  road. 

"  Hi !  Miss  'Gusty,  here's  Mas'  Charles  and  dat  Miss 
Cully  to  the  buildin' ;  you  better  come  down." 

Mr.  Mortimer  and  Augusta  both  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound  for  a  moment,  then  Augusta  reached  out  her 
hand  for  the  branch  he  held. 

"  Had  you  not  better  come  down  to  receive  them  1 " 
asked  Mr.  Mortimer. 

"  There  is  quite  time  enough  for  that,"  she  answered, 
quietly,  receiving  the  branch,  conveying  it  to  its  destined 
place,  and  securing  it  there.  They  had  reached  the  steps  to 
the  piazza  before  she  began  to  leave  her  eminence,  and 
Charles,  springing  forward,  cried,  "  Stay,  Augusta,  let  me 
help  you,"  but  in  vain.  She  moved  gently,  quietly,  almost 
languidly  ;  yet  there  she  was  on  the  piazza  before  he  could 
reach  her. 

"  Independent  as  ever  !  "  he  exclaimed,  mercilessly  shak- 


350  TWO   PICTTJKES. 

ing  the  hand  Augusta  placed  in  his,  in  his  desire  to  appear 
cordial  and  unembarrassed. 

"  Pray  assist  Miss  Cullen,"  was  her  rejoinder,  as  that 
young  lady  was  ascending  the  steps,  with  her  habit  skirt, 
which  had  in  some  way  slipped  from  her  arm,  falling  around 
her  feet.  If  the  slip  had  been  a  ruse,  intended  to  prevent 
Charlie's  desertion,  it  had  been  ineffectual,  and  the  flush  that 
rose  to  Miss  Cullen's  brow,  and  the  slight  brusqucness  in 
the  movement  with  which  she  waved  off  the  gentleman's 
assistance  and  recovered  the  trailing  skirt,  may  have  marked 
her  disappointment.  If  so,  it  was  not  the  only  disappoint 
ment  she  experienced  this  morning.  She  had  intended  to 
meet  Augusta  with  a  condescending  courtesy  which  should 
at  once  charm  Charles  Moray  and  give  "  the  governess,"  as 
she  had  lately  been  accustomed  to  style  Augusta  when  nam 
ing  her  to  her  mother,  her  proper  place  ;  but  she  found  her 
self  powerless  before  an  impassive  calmness  and  indifference, 
which  seemed  impervious  to  attack  as  a  steel  coat  of  mail, 
while  the  most  punctilious  courtesy  left  her  no  legitimate 
subject  of  complaint. 

"  What  a  good  memory  you  must  have  for  faces.  You 
called  me  by  my  name  at  once,  and  I  should  never  have  re 
membered  you,  though  I  dare  say  we  met  in  Washington," 
was  one  of  Miss  Cullen's  observations. 

It  was  met  with,  "  I  may  have  seen  you  there,  but  I  can 
not  remember  it.  My  old  nurse  here  mentioned  your  name 
as  you  were  approaching." 

"  Do  you  correspond  with  Mrs.  Price  ?  I  used  to  know 
her  at  Saratoga.  I  should  like  to  hear  something  about 
her." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  gratify  you  ;  but  I  know  nothing 
of  Mrs.  Price ;  I  was  only  the  governess  of  her  children," 
was  the  calmly  courteous  reply. 

"  Dear  me  !  how  you  must  have  disliked  it." 


TWO   PICTURES.  351 

"  Not  at  all ;  it  was  a  very  profitable  engagement." 

Miss  Cullen  gave  up  in  despair ;  she  might  as  well  shoot 
her  arrows  against  a  granite  wall.  Besides,  a  glance  at 
Charles  Moray's  face  showed  her  that  she  was  annoying  him 
by  her  sharpshooting.  This  was  far  removed  from  her 
present  intention,  and  fearing  that  she  could  not  resist  her 
warlike  propensities,  she  gave  the  signal  for  their  departure. 

"  You  will  come  to  see  us,"  said  Charles,  retaining  the 
hand  which  Augusta  had  given  him  at  parting ;  "  I  want 
you  to  see  the  old  house  in  its  new  dress." 

It  cost  Augusta  some  effort  not  to  say  that  she  would 
rather  have  seen  it  in  its  old  one ;  she  only  answered,  "  I 
will  come  as  soon  as  I  am  strong  enough  to  walk  so  far ; 
you  know  I  have  not  been  very  well  of  late." 

"  You  must  not  walk ;  you  must  have  your  riding 
horse." 

"  My  poor  little  pony  ?  They  tell  me  he  is  dead.  If 
he  were  living,  he  would  hardly  be  able  to  carry  me  now." 

"  Of  course  not — you  must  have  another  ;  I  will  see  to 
that." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kind  intentions,  but  Mr.  Mortimer 
keeps  no  stables." 

"  Oh,  the  carpenters  can  soon  knock  up  a  stable ;  I  will 
see  to  it." 

Charles  Moray  hurried  away  as  he  spoke,  to  join  Miss 
Cullen,  who  was  already  standing  beside  her  horse  and  look 
ing  impatiently  back,  as  if  to  chide  his  delay. 

"  I  hope  he  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Augusta,  in 
somewhat  annoyed  accents,  to  Mr.  Mortimer ;  "  I  should 
dislike  it  very  much." 

"  Do  not  be  disturbed,  my  dear ;  I  think  he  will  for 
get  it." 

And  Mr.  Mortimer  was  right.  Charles  Moray  found 
himself  just  at  this  time  crowded  with  engagements ;  the 


352  TWO   PICTURES. 

late  breakfast — unfailing  result  of  the  night's  festivities — 
was  succeeded  by  hunting,  fishing,  boat  racing,  picnicing  on 
a  neighboring  island — engagements  into  which  he  seemed 
thrust  without  will  of  his  own,  and  which  were  succeeded  by 
the  late  dinner — and  that  by  music,  dancing,  card  or  billiard 
playing  till  the  early  hours  of  another  morning  sent  him  to 
his  bed,  to  recruit  his  exhausted  energies  for  another  day  of 
forced  gaieties  and  wearied  satiety.  Charles  Moray,  light 
as  was  his  nature,  never  asked  himself  if  this  were  happiness 
— he  knew  it  was  not ; — but  he  did  sometimes  ask,  Why  am 
I  not  happy?  Here  were  all  the  elements  he  had  ever 
asked  for  to  constitute  his  Elysium, — fortune,  friends,  and 
nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  himself.  Ah !  there  was  the 
rub :  he  had  yet  to  learn  that  man  withers  without  work  as 
surely  as  a  plant  without  water  ;  that  though  labor — the 
labor  which  makes  the  brow  to  sweat  and  the  back  to  bend, 
which  dwarfs  the  soul  and  holds  it  down  to  the  earth,  may 
be  a  curse — work,  the  work  which  gives  exercise  to  all 
man's  faculties,  and  thus  stimulates  the  growth  of  his  whole 
nature,  is  an  immeasurable  blessing.  His  soul  was  even 
now  withering  within  him  for  the  want  of  it,  and  yet  all 
around  him  lay,  not  work  in.  the  abstract,  but  his  own  work 
— work  the  highest  and  noblest  that  can  be  allotted  to  man, 
and  for  which  his  position  of  master  gave  him  peculiar  ad 
vantages.  Indeed,  it  was  not  only  work  that  could  not  be 
done  so  well,  but  work  that  could  not  be  done  at  all  by  an 
other,  while  he  held  that  position. 

Charles  Moray  was  not  the  only  one  on  St.  Mary's  Isle 
who  was  reaping  the  bitter  fruit  of  neglect  of  this  great  prin 
ciple  of  our  nature.  With  a  richer  and  deeper  nature  than 
his,  Augusta  Moray  had  been  unable  even  to  fancy  that  she 
could  find  her  life  in  the  sports  that  charm  none  but  the  light 
est  spirits  for  more  than  an  hour.  Her  Paradise  had  been 
of  another  kind — more  refined,  ministering  to  higher  enjoy- 


TWO   PICTURES.  353 

merit,  yet  bounded  to  herself  and  those  whom  love  had 
made  as  parts  of  her  own  being.  Could  she  have  realized 
it,  it  would  have  been  but  to  write  on  it  as  others  had  done 
before,  "  Vanity  of  vanities — all  is  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit."  It  had  been  denied  to  her,  and  she  felt  that  nothing 
was  left  worth  a  struggle,  except  to  keep  her  pride  intact 
from  the  soil  of  dependence,  and  thus  to  eat  and  drink  and 
die.  None,  save  one  who  has  felt  it,  can  conceive  the  bitter 
ness  of  this  aimless  existence  to  a  spirit  conscious  of  power. 
It  is  a  daily,  hourly  death.  None  need  feel  it — the  world's 
great  Creator  intended  it  for  none.  He  has  given  a  place 
and  a  work  to  every  creature  to  whom  he  has  given  life. 
He  who  leaves  the  place  unfilled,  the  work  undone,  does 
so  at  his  peril ;  on  his  head  will  assuredly  fall  the  pen 
alty  sooner  or  later.  Happy  for  him  if  it  fall  ere  the 
curtain  of  death  divide  him  from  all  the  interests  of  his 
present  existence,  and  the  neglect  and  its  consequences  be 
therefore  irretrievable. 

Mr.  Mortimer  was  grieved  to  see  that  though  Augusta 
would  enter  with  at  least  the  appearance  of  pleasure  into  any 
scheme  devised  by  him,  or  even  by  Charity,  for  her  enjoy 
ment  ;  that  though  she  would  say,  "  Oh  yes  !  that  would  be 
delightful !  "  as  she  took  her  book,  or  work,  or  drawing 
materials  to  the  rustic  seat  under  the  great  oak  which  he 
had  arranged  for  her,  or  would  declare  that  nothing  could 
be  more  charming  than  a  ramble  with  Charity  to  the  old 
haunts  she  had  loved  as  a  child,  the  book,  or  work,  or  draw 
ing  often  proved  but  an  excuse  for  musings  that  left  her 
sadder  than  before,  and  she  returned  from  the  rambles  with 
an  expression  of  weariness  in  countenance  and  movement, 
for  which  she  could  not  plead  delicacy  of  health,  all  symp 
toms  of  illness  having  rapidly  disappeared  under  the  soft 
ministerings  of  her  native  air. 

Though  grieved,  as  we  have  said,  Mr.  Mortimer  was 


354  T\VO   PICTURES. 

long  silent.  One  Sabbath  evening  they  sat  together  in  the 
shaded  piazza,  which  the  warmth  of  the  advancing  season — 
it  was  now  the  last  of  March — made  the  pleasantest  part' of 
the  house,  Augusta  reading  to  her  old  friend,  who  had 
suffered  much  lately  from  increasing  dimness  o£  sight.  The 
book  chosen  by  him  was  "  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and 
Dying." 

"  Do  you  agree  with  that  ?  "  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  as  she 
finished  one  of  those  long  rhythmical  sentences  in  which  we 
know  not  whether  to  admire  most  the  clearness  and  force 
of  the  reasoning,  the  poetic  beauty  of  the  language,  or  the 
devotional  feeling. 

"  Do  you  agree  with  that  ?  "  he  asked  again,  as  she  hesi 
tated. 

To  many,  to  most,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been  easy  to 
answer  "  yes  "  or  "  no,"  or  "  I  do  not  know  ;"  but  Augusta 
never  equivocated  in  her  life,  scarcely  ever  evaded  meeting 
a  question  fairly  and  fully  ;  so  now,  after  a  minute's  vain 
attempt  to  recall  what  she  had  been  reading,  finding  that 
Mr.  Mortimer  still  awaited  her  answer,  she  said,  with  a 
flushing  cheek,  "  I-  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  understood  it." 

"  And  yet  it  was  not  difficult  to  understand.  Are  you 
quite  sure  you  knew  what  you  were  reading  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir  ;  it  is  '  Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying,' " 
she  said,  but  her  eyes  sank  before  the  mild,  steady  gaze  of 
his,  that  seemed  to  her,  tenderly  reproachful. 

"  My  child,  where  is  your  heart  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Morti 
mer,  gently  ;  "  I  have  seen  from  the  first  it  was  not  with 
us,"  he  added,  mournfully.  Augusta  was  touched.  Tears 
sprang  to  her  eyes.  Again  she  seemed  a  little  child,  and  he, 
her  kind  teacher,  as  she  said,  softly,  "  Forgive  me,  dear  sir ; 
I  will  be  more  attentive,"  and  raising  the  book  from  her 
lap,  she  would  have  read  again. 

Mr.  Mortimer  laid  his  hand  upon  the  book. 


rwo  PICTURES.  355 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  will  not  ask  you  to  read  any  more  this 
evening." 

"  Are  you  ofFended  with  me,  dear  Mr.  Mortimer  ? " 
asked  Augusta,  with  a  little  tremulousness  in  her  voice. 

"  No,  my  child,  not  offended ;  I  have  no  right  to  be 
that,  nor  have  you  given  me  any  cause ;  but  I  arn  disap 
pointed.  Ah,  my  dear  !  you  do  not  know  what  disappoint 
ment  is  to  the  old,  who  have  but  little  left  here  to  love  or 
hope  for,  and  who  know  that  from  even  that  little,  death 
must  divorce  them  soon." 

"  Oh,  dear  sir,  say  not  such  cruel  words !  "  exclaimed 
Augusta,  with  streaming  tears. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  my  child ;  I  did  not  mean  to  wound 
you." 

"  Only  tell  me  what  you  wish — what  I  can  do  ;  I  came 
at  your  wish,  hoping  to  give  you  pleasure." 

"  It  was  very  kind  in  you,  my  good  child,  as  kind  as  has 
been  your  compliance  with  all  my  wishes  since  you  were 
here  ;  but  your  heart  has  not  been  in  these  kind  acts,  your 
heart  is  not  here  ;  where  is  it,  Augusta  ?  " 

The  flush  rose  from  Augusta's  cheek  to  her  brow,  a  thrill 
shot  through  her  whole  frame ;  she  would  have  escaped  from 
the  piazza,  but  had  no  power  to  stir.  To  any  other  but 
Mr.  Mortimer  she  would  have  answered  such  a  question 
proudly,  defiantly,  perhaps  ;  but  for  this  gentle,  good  old 
man,  this  kind,  constant  friend,  she  had  no  pride. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  again,  as  he  read  that 
flushing  and  downcast  face,  "  do  not  think  that  I  meant  to 
ask  an  impertinent  question,  to  pry  into  the  secrets  of  a  young 
and  delicate  nature  ;  I  want  to  know  only  so  much  of  your 
life  as  will  enable  me  to  help  you  to  the  paths  of  peace ; 
you  seem  to  me  now  like  a  little  child  which  has  wandered 
away  from  its  home  into  the  solitude  of  a  vast  wood,  where 
it  stands  affrighted  at  its  loneliness." 


356  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  You  are  right — loneliness  ;  yes,  that  is  it." 

"  And  yet,  it  may  be,  the  home  is  just  at  hand,  if  some 
friendly  guide  would  only  point  to  the  path," 

Augusta  did  not  speak,  and  her  downcast  eyes  forbade 
his  reading  there  her  unuttered  thoughts. 

"  Shall  I  try  to  be  your  guide,  my  child  1 " 

The  voice  was  so  tender  and  gentle,  and  when  Augusta 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face,  the  flowing  gray  locks,  the  kind 
smile,  laid  such  a  bond  upon  her,  that  even  the  strength  of 
her  pride  could  not  break  it,  yet  she  shrunk  from  the  probe 
that  might  be  applied,  and  could  only  answer  with  a  falter 
ing  voice,  "  It  is  hard  to  guide  one,  sir,  whose  wanderings 
are  aimless,  who  has  no  home  and  no  hope." 

"  No  home  !  no  hope  !  God  forbid  that  this  should  be 
your  case  !  There  is  but  one  place  in  God's  dominions  over 
whose  door  is  written  '  No  hope.' " 

"  I  was  speaking  but  of  this  life,"  said  Augusta,  sadly. 

"  Our  life  is  one ;  the  mistake— the  fatal  mistake — is  to 
think  of  the  portion  spent  on  earth  as  the  whole.  Do  not 
think  that  age  has  made  me  cold — that  I  have  forgotten  the 
force  of  human  love  and  human  hopes ;  memories,  Augusta, 
grow  very  tender  in  the  light  that  falls  on  them  from  the 
world  to  which  I  am  so  near." 

He  sat  a  little  while  in  quiet  thought,  whose  outward 
expression  was  not  sadness,  but  peace  ;  then  resumed. 

"  What  I  would  say  is  that  these  hopes  and  loves  must 
bring  us  more  disquiet  than  happiness,  so  long  as  they  cen 
tre  on  ourselves,  or  on  those  whom  love  has  made  as  parts 
of  ourselves  ;  it  is  only  when  their  action  is  as  wide  as  the 
world — as  high  as  the  heavens — that  they  bring  happiness. 
It  is  not  through  self-seeking,  but  through  self-renunciation, 
that  we  attain  to  a  true  peace." 

"  Self-renunciation  ?  I  do  not  quite  understand,"  said 
Augusta,  interested  by  the  apparent  paradox. 


TWO   PICTURES.  357 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  he  who  is  willing  to  lose  his  life  for  a  good 
cause,  who  finds  a  higher,  nobler,  and  even  happier  life 
even  in  that  act." 

"I  understand  that — the  martyrs  who  lay  down  their 
earthly  lives  for  their  faith,  win  a  richer,  heavenly  life." 

"  Your  explanation  is  good  ;  but  you  must  bear  in  mind 
that  martyrdom  is  but  the  highest  expression  of  that  prin 
ciple  which  must  govern  the  whole  Christian  life  ;  it  is  only 
thus  that  we  can  reconcile  the  '  peace  '  and  the  '  tribulation ' 
which  were  alike  our  Saviour's  promise  to  his  people." 

It  seemed  to  Augusta  that  Mr.  Mortimer  had  forgotten 
her  individual  case  in  the  enunciation  of  a  general  principle, 
and  pleased  at  the  change,  she  turned  readily  to  what  she 
considered  a  new  subject. 

"  I  fear,"  she  said,  "  that  a  religious  persecution  would 
find  few  martyrs  among  us  of  the  present  day." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  was  the  thoughtful  answer ;  "  there 
were  many  more  than  Elijah  suspected  who  had  not  bowed 
the  knee  unto  Baal ;  there  are  many,  I  hope,  even  in  this 
self-seeking  age,  who  live  in  this  spirit ;  many  who  do  not 
pause  in  their  course  of  beneficent  action  for  any  pressure 
of  personal  sorrow,  or  absorption  in  personal  joy — who  seek 
not  their  own,  but  the  things  of  others." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  are  inculcating  a 
stoical  disregard  to  our  own  pain  or  pleasure,  which  may  be 
very  beautiful  in  theory,  but  which  is  quite  unattainable,  or 
attainable  only  by  those  whom  nature  has  not  endowed  with 
very  keen  susceptibilities." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  ;  the  highest  expression  of  my 
ideal  was  in  one  who  was  gifted  with  the  tenderest  of  human 
hearts,  and  exposed  to  the  extremity  of  human  woes,  yet  who 
spent  his  life  not  in  vain  repining,  but  in  going  about  doing 
good  ;  who,  even  when  dying  a  death  of  agony,  prayed  not 
for  himself,  but  for  his  murderers — from  whom  no  pang  ex- 


358  TWO    PICTURES. 

torted  a  cry  till  he  felt  that  desertion  which, — blessings  on 
His  Holy  Name ! — no  mortal  need  feel, — which  none  can  feel 
or  understand,  perhaps,  save  those  who  have  been  banished 
from  the  presence  of  God  into  what  the  Scripture  calls 
'  outer  darkness.'  Was  this  stoicism,  or  want  of  keen  sus 
ceptibilities  1 " 

Augusta  sat  awed  and  still.  It  appeared  to  her  almost 
irreverent  to  make  that  Divine  life,  yet  more  that  sacrificial 
death,  the  subject  of  conversation.  Nor  did  Mr.  Mortimer 
pursue  the  theme  farther ;  he  had  cast  the  seed,  he  could 
now  only  pray  that  God  would  give  the  increase. 

Another  week  had  passed  away,  and  again  the  aged 
teacher  and  the  young  girl,  whom  he  had  loved  and  prayed 
for,  sat  in  the  same  piazza.  The  rustling  of  the  leaves, 
stirred  by  a  gentle  breeze,  and  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
which  had  built  their  nests  in  the  great  oaks,  were  the  only 
sounds  that  broke  the  stillness  of  the  evening. 

"  Great  peace  have  they  whose  hearts  are  stayed  on 
Thee,"  softly  repeated  Mr.  Mortimer.  The  words  had 
furnished  the  subject  of  his  sermon  on  the  morning  of  that 
day, — a  sermon  in  which,  with  a  simplicity  that  placed  what 
he  said  within  the  comprehension  of  the  humblest  intellect, 
and  a  directness  that  suffered  no  earnest  heart  to  evade  its 
grasp,  he  had  elaborated  and  enforced  the  truth  presented  to 
Augusta  in  conversation. 

"  Do  you  not  desire  this  great  peace,  my  dear  ? "  he 
asked,  turning  suddenly,  but  not  ungently,  to  Augusta. 

"  I  fear  it  would  be  a  vain  desire,"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  Try,  my  dear,  try." 

"  How,  my  dear  sir,  how  shall  I  try  ?  " 

"Get  away  from  yourself — let  your  sympathies  and 
work  be  no  longer  for  yourself,  or  for  those  few  beloved 
friends  who  are  parts  of  yourself,  but  for  the  needy  and 
sorrowing  wherever  you  find  them  ;  and  let  your  trust,  your 


TWO   PICTUKES.  359 

reliance  be  not  on  yourself,  not  on  any  human  arm,  but  on 
God." 

"  This  is  very  general,  dear  friend  ;  I  want  to  know  what 
I  shall  do  now — for  whom  can  I  work  ?  with  whom  can  I 
sympathize  ?  " 

"  I  think,  just  at  present,  the  most  unhappy  person  within 
your  reach,  the  one  who  has  the  greatest  claim  on  your  sym 
pathy  and  charity,  is  Mrs.  Charles  Moray." 

The  quick  crimson  flushed  Augusta's  brow ;  she  raised 
her  head  proudly,  and  said,  "  I  can  do  nothing  for  her." 

"  Bless  your  enemies — do  good  to  them  that  despitefully 
use  you  and  persecute  you,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  in  the  tone 
of  one  rather  reciting  to  himself  than  addressing  another. 

"  What  good  could  I  do  to  Mrs.  Moray  ?  "  asked  Augusta, 
hotly. 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  I  only  know  that  she  needs  all  sorts 
of  good,  and  I  do  not  think  you  should  so  determinately 
withdraw  from  her  as  to  make  it,  as  far  as  your  act  can 
make  it,  impossible  to  act  beneficially  upon  her." 

"  I  have  already  declined  Mrs.  Moray's  invitations^  and 
I  cannot  now  solicit  them  or  approach  her  unsought." 

"  You  cannot  lay  that  much  prized  jewel  of  your  pride 
on  the  altar  of  Him  who  is  your  peace?  Well,  in  this  case, 
it  is  not  demanded  ;  she  told  me  this  morning  that  since  you 
would  not  come  to  see  her,  she  was  coming  to-morrow  to 
see  you." 

"  Since  she  has  delayed  it  so  long,  I  wish  she  had  omitted 
it  altogether,"  said  Augusta,  haughtily. 

"  Hush,  my  dear !  Remember,  daily  dying  is  the 
Christian's  life  and  peace." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  at  what  hour  she  would  be  here  1 " 

"  No  ;  only  in  the  morning." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  alone  7 ' 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  her  ?  " 
16 


3GO  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Not  of  her,  but  of  myself." 

"  You  know  where  to  turn  from  that  fear — but  I  will  be 
present  and  assist  at  the  sacrifice,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
which  Augusta  had  scarcely  the  power  to  return. 

What  had  changed  Mrs.  Moray's  tactics,  so  far  as  to 
induce  her  to  seek  one  whom  she  hated  with  a  bitterness, 
which  only  a  consciousness  of  having  done  a  great  injury, 
for  which  we  have  no  desire  to  atone,  can  infuse  into  the 
heart,  we  may  perhaps  learn  by  a  more  minute  survey  than 
we  have  yet  made  of  her  life  at  home. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"Upon  my  brad  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown, 
And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  iny  gripe, 
Thence  to  be  wrenched  with  an  unlineal  hand." — Macbeth. 

"  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman ! " — Hamlet. 

WE  said,  some  pages  back,  that  Mr.  Mortimer  was  right 
in  the  opinion  that  Charles  Moray  would  probably  forget 
his  promises  to  Augusta.  He  did  forget  them,  in  the  ordi 
nary  sense  of  the  expression — that  is,  he  forgot  to  execute 
them  ;  yet  they  did  not  altogether  vanish  from  his  sphere 
of  thought.  They  returned  to  his  memory  at  inopportune 
times,  when  it  seemed  impossible  to  take  any  step  toward 
their  fulfilment,  rousing  him  for  a  moment  from  the  dull 
despondency  of  ennui,  to  a  keener  pang  of  shame.  Weary 
of  others, — dissatisfied  with  himself, — this  is  precisely  the 
condition  in  which  a  man,  especially  a  self-indulgent  man, 
is  most  in  danger.  It  would  be  an  interesting  study  to  the 
psychologist  to  follow  our  present  subject  through  daily  and 
hourly  alternations  of  feverish  unrest  and  despondent  inac 
tion,  to  mark  the  sullen  expression  and  jaded  movements 
of  the  morning — to  hear  hirn  again  and  again  meet  the  first 
proposition  of  the  day's  amusements  by  the  declaration  that 
he  must  leave  his  guests  to  themselves,  as  business,  too 
long  postponed,  demanded  his  attention,  or  as  a  message 
from  the  plantation  required  his  presence ;  or,  with  an 
expression  of  unconquerable  determination  in  the  glance 


3G2  TWO   PICTUKES. 

directed  to  his  mother,  as  he  had  an  engagement  with  iits 
cousin, /which  he  could  no  longer  postpone.  Then,  to  mark 
the  gradual  relaxation  of  his  purpose,  under  the  influence  of 
the  temptations  presented,  in  which  presentation  his  mother 
never  appeared,  though  an  acute  observer  would  easily  have 
surmised  that  she  sat  behind  the  curtain  and  moved  the 
wires.  Let  us  give  but  one  example. 

The  scene  is  the  old  dining  room,  in  which  Mr.  Hugh 
Moray  had  entertained  the  stranger,  who  had  exercised  so 
large  an  influence  over  the  destination  of  his  property  ;  but 
it  would  scarce  be  recognized  by  one  who  remembered  it 
only  in  its  former  state.  The  large  windows  opening  to  the 
floor  were  now  richly  draped  ;  the  floor  was  carpeted  ;  the 
oak  furniture  is  of  the  modern  antique  style,  the  breakfast 
table  glitters  with  its  display  of  silver.  Charles  Moray, 
Harry  Reardon,  and  two  young  gentlemen,  sons  of  planters 
on  the  main-land,  are  seated  at  the  table  with  Miss  Cullen, 
Mrs.  Marvel,  a  gay  young  widow,  and  her  younger  sister, 
Miss  Tanner,  both  Saratoga  acquaintances  of  Mrs.  Moray, 
who  had  only  lately  arrived  to  pass  the  weeks  of  spring,  so 
dolorous  in  a  northern  clime,  so  riant  and  sparkling  in  a 
southern  one,  with  "  dear,  darling  Mrs.  Moray  and  her 
charming  son." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  delightful  spring  day  1 " 

"  Suppose  we  take  to  the  boats  and  show  Mrs.  Marvel 
and  Miss  Tanner  one  of  the  pretty  islands  in  your  neighbor 
hood,"  said  Mr.  Reardon. 

"  I  vote  for  a  brisk  cantor  to  the  other  end  of  this  island 
and  a  picnic  under  the  oaks,"  exclaimed  Miss  Cullen,  who, 
conscious  that  she  looked  well  on  horseback,  always  pre 
ferred  riding  to  boating.  "  How  do  you  vote,  Mrs.  Marvel  1 " 

"  Is  there  a  carriage  road  to  the  other  end  of  the 
island?"  asked  Mrs.  Marvel,  wrhose  role  was  excessive 
timidity.  "  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Moray's  horses  are  too  gay  for 


TWO   PICTURES.  363 

me,  and  as  to  the  sea,  it  almost  killed  me  when  I  came  here 
— those  great  waves  ! "  and  the  widow  shuddered  slightly. 

"  A  beautiful  carriage  road,  level  and  smooth  as  a  bowl 
ing  green — so  you  will  be  on  my  side  ;  now,  Miss  Tanner, 
your  vote." 

"  One  moment's  delay,  Miss  Tanner ;  let  me  assure  you 
the  sea  to-day  is  as  smooth  as  Miss  Cullcn's  carriage  road, 
an  unbroken  mirror  for  the  bluest  of  blue  skies,  and  that  the 
island  is  a  perfect  Isola  Bella.  " 

"  Oh !  I  dote  on  the  sea,  and  the  blue  sky,  and  the 
islands  and  all  that,"  cried  Miss  Tanner,  enthusiastically. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Tanner  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Reardon  ; 
"  now  we  have  a  tie,  but  I  hope — " 

"  No,  no !  Mr.  Moray,  your  vote  ;  you  will  not  deny  me 
your  vote,"  cried  Miss  Cullen. 

"  You  must  excuse  me  to-day  ;  I  shall  have  to  leave  you 
to  your  own  devices ;  I  must  see  my  cousin,  Miss  Moray, 
to-day  ;  but  I  am  sure  either  Mr.  Maxwell  or  Mr.  Howell," 
glancing  at  the  two  young  gentlemen  visitors,  "  will  ride 
with  you  with  pleasure." 

Both  the  gentlemen  named,  offered  their  services  eagerly, 
though  timidly,  to  the  handsome,  dashing  Miss  Cullen,  whom 
they  greatly  admired. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  very  slight  bow  and  an 
expression  of  pique,  "  I  shall  stay  at  home ;  I  believe  I  have 
letters  to  write." 

"  I  protest  against  that,"  said  Mrs.  Moray ;  "  the  weather 
will  soon  be  too  warm  for  any  active  exercise,  you  must  not 
waste  this  beautiful  day  in  the  house ;  Charles  will  not  let 
you,  I  am  sure,  if  it  depends  on  him." 

Harry  Reardon  bent  his  face  over  his  plate  with  a  smile, 
which  called  up  a  quick,  bright  flush,  half  of  shame,  half  of 
vexation  on  Miss  Cullen's  cheeks.  That  smile  did  not  speak 
the  feeling  she  had  hoped  to  excite.  Charles  Moray  saw  the 


304  TWO   PICTURES. 

flush,  which  he  attributed  to  a  more  flattering  cause,  and 
addressing  her  alone,  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  go  ;  I  will  try 
to  join  you  at  the  picnic ;  but,  indeed,  I  must  see  my 
cousin  first." 

"  Let  us  all  go  there  and  carry  her  off  with  us.  Mrs. 
Marvel  will  have  a  seat  to  spare  in  the  coupe.  I  want  you 
to  sing  that  beautiful  song,  '  Woodman,  spare  that  tree ! ' 
fur  us ;  I  shall  put  my  guitar  in  the  carriage." 

"  But,  indeed, — "  Charles  began,  but  after  another  glance 
changed  what  he  was  about  to  say  into  "  Well !  if  we  are 
going  to  the  Northend,  we  must  make  our  preparations 
quickly  ;  we  shall  find  it  warm  at  midday,  and  it  is  a  seven 
miles'  ride." 

"  Shall  we  call  for  your  cousin  ?  "  asked  Miss  Cullen, 
scarcely  able  to  repress  a  little  exultation  in  her  tone. 

"  Oh  no !  it  would  take  us  quite  out  of  our  way.  I 
must  put  off  my  visit  till  this  evening." 

"  Miss  Tanner,  shall  we  go  to  Isola  Bella?"  asked  Mr. 
Reardon,  with  mock  earnestness. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  won't  do,"  said  Miss  Tanner  gravely, 
mistaking  the  tone. 

Miss  Cullen's  eyes  turned  with  mischief  in  their  glance 
to  Mr.  Reardon,  and  with  a  readiness  which  showed  that  he 
had  not  outlived  his  gentlemanly  instincts,  ho  said  to  Miss 
Tanner,  "  Since  we  must  submit  to  the  majority  and  go  to 
the  Northend,  permit  me  to  have  the  pleasure  of  driving  you 
in  Moray's  brougham.  Mrs.  Moray  will,  I  dare  say,  ac 
company  your  sister.'1 

The  proposal  was  accepted,  and  in  this  order  they  went, 
not  altogether  to  the  satisfaction  of  Miss  Cullen,  as  Mrs. 
Cullen  and  her  maid,  too,  divined,  from  her  captiousness 
and  impatience  while  arranging  her  dress  for  the  drive. 
Charles  Moray  lost  half  his  value  in  Miss  Cullen's  eyes, 
when  Harry  Reardon  was  not  by  to  bear  witness  to  her 


TWO   PICTURES.  365 

power.  Of  course,  Charles  Moray  returned  top  late  arid  too 
much  fatigued  to  walk  over  to  Mr.  Mortimer's  that  evening. 

Notwithstanding  the  manoeuvring  of  his  mother  and  the 
easy  pliability  of  Charles  Moray,  it  was  obviously  impos 
sible  that  two  persons  living  within  a  mile  of  each  other, 
and  neither  of  them  in  strict  confinement,  should  not  some 
times  meet,  especially  when  Augusta's  restored  strength 
rendered  her  capable  of  the  long,  quiet  rambles  she  loved. 
One  day  she  was  walking  leisurely  over  the  narrow,  shaded 
path,  strown  with  the  sere  leaves  of  the  last  autumn  and 
winter,  which  led  by  the  burial  ground  to  the  plantation, 
when  the  sound  of  approaching  voices  and  steps  made  her 
draw  closer  the  light  mantilla  she  had  thrown  from  her 
shoulders  and  exchange  her  languid,  pensive  movement  for 
a  quicker  step.  Move  as  quickly  as  she  would,  she  was 
soon  seen,  and  almost  as  soon  overtaken  by  Charles  Moray 
and  Mr.  Eeardon. 

"  Augusta !  "  exclaimed  Charles  Moray,  "  how  very  glad 
I  am  to  meet  you  !  I  was  going  to  see  you  this  morning — 
was  I  not,  Harry  ?  My  friend,  Mr.  Reardon — my  cousin 
Miss  Moray." 

Augusta  bowed  to  Mr.  Reardon  in  acknowledgment  of 
the  introduction,  as  she  said,  with  a  smile,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  speak  more  of  carelessness  than  of  pleasure,  "  Your 
assurance  needs  no  corroboration  from  another.  It  is  well 
your  intention  was  not  put  into  action  as  you  would  have 
found  neither  Mr.  Mortimer  nor  me  at  home." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  let  me  carry  your  basket — 
plants  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  plants  out  here  ?  " 

Augusta  glanced  at  Mr.  Reardon ;  but  he  had  stepped 
on  ahead,  and  seemed  out  of  earshot ;  so,  lowering  her 
voice  a  little,  she  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  pardon  my  coaxing 
the  gardener  to  give  me  some  cuttings  from  my  uncle's 
favorite  rose  tree  ;  I  am  going  to  plant  them  at  his  grave." 


366  TWO   PICTURES. 

Charles  Moray  reddened  with  shame,  and  said,  ingenu 
ously,  "  It  is  a  disgrace  to  me  that  this  should  have  been 
left  to  you.  I  have  been  intending  to  call  and  consult  Mr. 
Mortimer  about  an  epitaph  for  a  monument  that  I  am  going 
to  write  to  Hugh  to  send  me  from  New  York.  Dear  old 
Hugh  !  how  I  wish  he  were  here  !  Do  you  think  he  would 
come  if  I  should  write  for  him  ?  " 

The  blood  that  flushed  Augusta's  cheek,  was  called  there 
more  by  indignation  at  this  expression  of  a  weak  selfish  and 
increasingly  indolent  nature, — this  intending,  was  going,  and 
^oisking, — than  by  the  name  of  Hugh  or  the  thought  of  his 
coming.  To  Charlie's  question  she  answered  somewhat 
coldly,  if  not  curtly,  "  The  best  way  to  ascertain  that,  will 
be  to  write." 

"  Augusta,"  said  Charles  Moray,  struck  by  her  manner, 
"  you  must  not  think  me  the  heartless  fellow  I  seem.  If 
you  could  only  be  one  day  in  our  house,  you  would  see  how 
impossible  it  is  for  a  fellow  to  do  as  he  wishes." 

"  Unless  he  will  exercise  a  little  decision  to  secure  his 
independence,"  Augusta  responded. 

"  A  man  may  be  decided  with  men  ;  but  what  is  he  to 
do  with  the  women,  Augusta  1 "  asked  Charles  Moray,  with 
such  an  expression  of  helpless  perplexity  that,  had  Augusta 
been  one  whit  less  provoked  by  his  weakness,  she  could  not 
but  have  laughed.  As  it  was  she  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  was  silent. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Reardon  stopped,  and  as  they  came  near, 
bowing  to  Augusta,  said,  "  I  am  sorry,  Moray,  to  disturb  so 
pleasant  an  interview  ;  but  I  find  it  is  past  ten,  and  I  must 
remind  you  that  the  ladies  will  expect  us." 

"  Will  you  go  to  them,  Reardon,  and  say  I  am  neces 
sarily  detained,  but  will  join  them  as  soon  as  I  can — " 

"  Not  detained  by  me—"  said  Augusta,  hurriedly. 

"  Not  by  you,  only  with  you— she  is  doing,  Reardon, 


TWO   PICTURES.  3G7 

what  I  ought  to  have  done  long  ago  ;  I  cannot  leave  her  to 
do  it  alone." 

"  It  is  a  work  which  certainly  does  not  need  two  to  per 
form  it ;  so,  if  you  are  really  anxious  to  do  it  yourself,  I 
will  give  you  the  slips  and  return  home,"  and  Augusta  held 
the  basket  toward  him. 

For  one  who  boasted  of  his  savoirfaire,  Charles  Moray 
both  felt  and  looked  awkwardly  enough.  He  was  provoked 
with  Augusta  for  her  cool  rejection  of  his  attendance,  and 
scarcely  less  provoked  with  Mr.  Reardon  for  being  a  wit 
ness  to  it. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  drive  you  homo,"  he  said,  a  little 
sulkily  to  the  first. 

"  Then  I  would  advise  you  to  hasten  on  with  Mr.  Ecar- 
don,  and  not  keep  the  ladies  waiting." 

As  she  said  this,  glancing  toward  Mr.  Reardon,  she  saw 
a  smile  curl  his  lip  ;  old  kindliness  to  Charlie  awoke  in  her 
heart ;  she  would  not  expose  him  to  that  bold  man's  mock 
ery,  so  holding  out  her  hand  with  a  friendliness,  which  at 
once  restored  his  self-possession,  she  added,  "  You  know, 
Charlie,  I  will  not  help  you  to  break  a  promise ;  come  to 
me  when  you  have  no  other  engagement,  and  I  will  take 
this  walk  with  you  with  pleasure.  Good  morning."  > 

Both  gentlemen  felt  themselves  dismissed,  and  moved  on 
rapidly,  and  for  some  time,  silently. 

"  What  a  complexion  ! "  cried  Mr.  Reardon,  suddenly, 
"  what  hair  !  what  eyes  !  all  glow  and  sparkle  in  her  looks, 
and  cool  as  an  icicle  in  manner.  Moray,  you  must  pardon 
me,  but  I  cannot  help  laughing,"  and  he  suited  the  action  to 
the  wrord,  "I  cannot  help  laughing,  when  I  think  how  you 
looked — I  never  saw  a  man  so  coolly  plante  in  my  life  ;  yet 
with  that  last  word  and  look  and  movement,  she  made  me 
envious  of  you.  What  a  witch  she  is  !  That  is  the  sort  of 
woman  who  could  move  the  world,  if  she  chose." 


3G8  TWO   PICTURES. 

"She  is  too  proud  to  choose  to  exert  her  influence  on 
any  but  her  friends — I  am  used  to  being  the  butt  of  her 
caprices.  With  all  her  glow  and  sparkle,  I  prefer  one  who 
will  not  plunge  me  in  a  second  from  the  genial  glow  of  a 
summer's  day  into  an  ice  bath,  even  though  she  should  at 
last  restore  me  to  the  sunshine." 

The  gentlemen  had  moved  rapidly  on ;  yet,  when  they 
reached  the  house  of  the  manager  or  overseer  on  the  planta 
tion,  they  found  the  ladies  collected  in  the  piazza  to  await 
their  coming,  astonishing  the  staid  wife  and  wild,  sunburned 
children  of  Mr.  Carter,  the  manager,  by  their  gay  dress  and 
lively  talk. 

"  I  told  you  so,  Mr.  Reardon  ;  I  knew  we  should  be  here 
before  you,"  cried  Miss  Cullen  and  Mrs.  Marvel  at  once. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  arrived  1 "  asked  Mr.  Rear- 
don. 

"  Fully  fifteen  minutes,"  was  the  answer,  as  each  lady 
examined  the  tiny  watch  hanging  at  her  girdle. 

"  We  should  have  been  here  long  before  that,  had  we 
not  met  the  Queen  of  Fairyland  in  our  walk,  who  turned 
poor  Moray  here  into  a  tree,  planted  him,  ladies ;  I  could 
not  leave  him,  of  course,  so  there  we  should  even  now  have 
been,  had  she  not  taken  pity  on  us  and  '  with  her  rod  re 
versed  and  backward  mutters  of  dissevering  power,'  set  him 
free  again." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Reardon?"  cried  the  bewil 
dered  Miss  Tanner,  whose  wits  were  somewhat  slow  at 
guessing  riddles. 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Cullen, 
who  had  reasons  of  her  own  for  disliking  the  account. 

"  That  is  the  way  truth  is  always  discredited.  Well, 
all  I  say  is,  try  your  power  on  him,  ladies,  and  see  if  you 
are  not  attacking  a  charmed  man." 

Mrs.  Marvel  and  Miss  Tanner  laughed  ;    Miss  Cullen 


TWO   PICTURES.  £69 

flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashed,  and  her  lips  settled  themselves 
into  a  line  of  unwonted  firmness.  To  her  sensitive  ear 
there  was  a  challenge  in  Mr.  Reardon's  words,  which  the 
glance  she  caught,  seemed  to  direct  especially  to  herself.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  told  her,  "  You  have  tried  to  play  him  off 
against  me,  you  will  henceforth  find  him  as  little  impressible 
as  you  have  found  me." 

"  I  will  try,  at  least,"  was  her  inward  response.  Was  it 
this  decision  which  prompted  the  manner  half  advancing,  half 
receding ;  the  eyes  lifted  to  his,  then  sinking  before  them ; 
the  burning  flush,  with  which  she  met  Charles  Moray  as  he 
returned  from  a  colloquy  with  Mr.  Carter,  in  which  he  had 
been  engaged  during  this  by-play  ?  Perhaps  the  gentle 
flattery  of  such  a  reception  was  more  felt  by  Charles  Moray 
from  its  contrast  to  the  cool  reception  Augusta  had  given 
him ;  it  may  have  been  this,  or  it  may  have  been  the  new 
character  imparted  to  her  face  by  the  counterfeit  emotion, 
which  made  him  think  her  at  that  moment  more  charming 
than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  It  was  to  her  and  not  to  Mrs. 
Marvel,  as  he  had  intended,  that  he  offered  his  arm  to  lead 
the  way  to  the  sugar  works,  the  ladies  being  desirous  to 
taste  the  warm,  luscious  sirup,  as  it  comes  from  its  first 
boiling.  It  was  a  strange  scene  to  them,  and  would  have 
been  stranger  still,  if  they  had  waited  till  night  and  seen  it 
lit  by  the  red  flames.  Brawny  men,  with  bared  arms,  flour 
ishing  dippers  with  long  handles,  were  moving  about  among 
the  boilers,  where  simmered  the  thin,  clear  juice  of  the  cane, 
or  where  boiled  with  a  bubbling  sound,  the  dark,  thick  sirup. 
No  one  who  had  heard  their  laugh,  blithe  as  a  child's,  or  lis 
tened  to  the  jests,  with  which  they  responded  to  the  merry 
salutations  of  their  visitors,  could  have  deemed  them  op 
pressed  or  melancholy  men. 

"While  the  visitors  were  in  the  sugar-house,  Mr.  Carter, 
by  Charles  Moray's  order,  had  sent  over  for  his  horse  and 


3  TO  TWO   PICTURES. 

Mr.  Heard on's,  and  the  whole  party  returned  together  by 
the  carriage  road. 

"  I  say,  Moray,  were  you  afraid  of  meeting  the  Queen 
again,  if  you  walked  ? "  cried  Mr.  Keardon,  gayly,  but  a 
little  maliciously,  as  he  mounted. 

Charles  Moray  busied  himself  about  the  arrangement 
of  Miss  Cullen's  drapery,  not  appearing  to  hear  the  ques 
tion.  The  lady  received  his  attentions  with  the  same  air  of 
newly-awakened  sensitiveness,  which  had  already  proved 
effective  in  drawing  him  to  her  side.  This  was  revealed 
rather  in  looks  and  manner  than  in  words  ;  indeed,  the  near 
neighborhood  of  the  coupe  and  the  frequent  interruptions 
from  Mr.  Reardon,  rendered  anything  like  confidential  con 
versation  difficult.  Yet  there  was  an  undertone  of  feeling 
accompanying  even  the  most  commonplace  observation, 
which,  where  the  feeling  is  genuine,  is  a  source  of  the  most 
exquisite  pleasure. 

"  How  warm  the  sun  is  to-day,  and  yet  it  is  only  the 
last  week  in  March,"  observed  young  Moray. 

"  The  last  week  in  March  !  May  will  soon  be  here  ! " 
cried  Miss  Cullen,  in  a  voice  which  could  not  be  inter 
preted  as  an  expression  of  gladness. 

"  You  will  not  leave  us  so  soon." 

"  Mamma  says  we  must." 

"  But  what  do  you  say  ?  "  in  a  low  and  very  earnest  tone. 

The  answer  was  a  sudden  lifting  of  the  eyes  to  his,  and 
as  sudden  a  drooping  of  their  lids,  Avhich  quivered  as  with 
suppressed  emotion. 

Had  they  been  alone,  Charles  Moray  would  at  that  mo 
ment  have  spoken  the  irrevocable  words  which  would  have 
placed  St.  Mary's  and  its  master  at  the  feet  of  Miss  Cullen. 
Not  that  he  was  what  might  be  called  in  love,  but  in  pure 
idleness,  and  lor  the  want  of  something  to  excite  him,  he  had 
played  around  the  flame  till  his  wings  were  scorched,  and 


TAVO    PICTURES.  371 

though  half  suspecting  a  snare,  he  was  ready  to  drop  into 
it.  Do  not  say,  reader,  such  weakness  is  impossible.  To 
the  young  man  who  is  a  mere  idler  or  pleasure  seeker — in  a 
world  where  every  reflective,  earnest  soul  finds  work  that 
tasks  his  utmost  power,  no  weakness  is  impossible  ;  he  drifts 
at  the  will  of  circumstance  hither  and  thither,  till  he  be 
comes  unable  to  resist  the  current,  even  though  he  knows 
that  it  is  floating  him  to  ruin.  Charles  Moray  was  not 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  tactics  of  flirtation,  as  practised  by 
the  frivolous  of  either  sex  ;  but  he  was  not  quite  au  fait  of 
that  deeper  coquetry  of  which  practice  had  made  Miss  Cul- 
len  mistress,  which  could  simulate  successfully  not  merely 
the  sensitiveness  of  an  awakened  heart,  but  the  modest  re 
serve  necessary  to  render  that  sensitiveness  alluring.  The 
sensation  it  awakened  in  him  was  welcome  ;  he  fostered  it, 
he  dwelt  on  all  that  was  calculated  to  increase  it,  till  he  half 
persuaded  himself  that  the  sparkle  of  fancy  was  indeed  the 
glow  of  passion.  Then  why  should  he  pause  or  hesitate  ? — 
he  was  his  own  master.  He  determined  to  speak  at  once. 
But  this  was  not  so  easy  as  it  seemed.  The  lady  liked  to 
display  her  power.  Especially  did  she  take  pleasure  in  this, 
in  the  presence  of  Harry  Reardon;  yet  she  shrank  with  a 
reluctance  which  perhaps  she  did  not  herself  fully  under 
stand  from  saying  the  words  that  would  commit  her  irre 
vocably.  Thus  affairs  rested  for  some  days,  affecting  the 
various  lookers  on  with  emotions  differing,  according  to  the 
stand-point  of  each.  To  Harry  Reardon  it  afforded  at  first 
quiet  fun,  changing  to  a  less  complacent  feeling  as  the  flirta 
tion  became  more  serious ;  to  Mrs.  Marvel  it  was  provok 
ing  to  see  the  only  marrying  man  in  the  company  so  en 
grossed  ;  to  Mrs.  Cullen  it  was  a  source  of  exultation,  the 
expression  of  which,  in  manner,  at  least,  it  was  difficult  to 
restrain ;  while  to  Mrs.  Moray  it  brought  vexation  scarcely 
disguised.  Bitterly  did  she  regret  that  she  had  not  made 


372  TWO   PICTURES. 

more  honest  and  strenuous  efforts  to  draw  Augusta  Moray 
into  her  circle.  "  Charlie  certainly  liked  her  once,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "  and  she  is  so  much  handsomer  than  that  girl — 
he  could  never  have  been  made  such  a  fool  of,  if  he  had  had 
Augusta  near  him  to  compare  her  with ;  she  would  not  have 
married  him — of  that  I  am  sure ;  but  so  much  the  better,  if 
she  had  only  kept  him  from  desiring  to  marry  another." 

And  on  that  hint  she  spoke  first  to  Mr.  Mortimer,  as  we 
have  seen,  proposing  to  call  on  Augusta  the  next  day,  saying 
that  she  had  waited  with  the  hope  that  Augusta  would  come 
to  her,  but  she  had  been  disappointed,  and  she  could  no 
longer  submit  to  this  estrangement  from  one  in  whom  she 
felt  so  deep  and  tender  an  interest. 

The  visit  was  made.  Mr.  Mortimer  complied  with 
Augusta's  request  that  he  would  not  leave  her,  the  more 
readily,  because  he  thought  his  presence  might  bring  the 
interview  to  a  more  peaceful  conclusion.  Mrs.  Moray  never 
had  studied  more  to  ingratiate  herself  than  on  this  morning. 
She  acknowledged  with  a  singular  degree  of  frankness  that 
she  had  not  done  her  duty  by  Augusta,  whom,  considering 
her  as  a  sacred  trust  from  Mr.  Moray,  she  ought  to  have 
made  more  strenuous  efforts  to  win.  "  But  you  know,  Au 
gusta,"  she  said,  "  you  harbored  most  unjust  suspicions  of 
me  when  we  parted,  which  showed  themselves  in  your  man 
ner,  if  not  in  your  words.  You  will  not  wonder  that  they 
made  me  indignant ;  I  was  very  angry  with  you,  my  dear, 
and  it  has  taken  me  all  this  time  to  get  over  it ;  but  now  I 
would  gladly  prove  to  you,  if  you  will  let  me,  that  I  love 
you  too  well  to  have  injured  you  intentionally." 

A  courteous,  general  acknowledgment  of  her  kind  in 
tentions  was  all  that  the  exquisite  tact  of  this  address  won 
for  Mrs.  Moray. 

To  her  invitations  the  answers  given  were  not  more  sat 
isfactory. 


TWO   PICTURES.  373 

"  Come  with  me  today,"  said  Mrs.  Moray. 

Augusta  regretted  that  it  would  be  impossible. 

"  Mr.  Mortimer,  cannot  you  persuade  her  ?  She  wants 
a  little  gayety  to  make  her  forget  the  past." 

Mr.  Mortimer  looked  at  Augusta  without  speaking ; 
their  eyes  met,  and  it  was  to  him  that  she  addressed  her  an 
swer,  in  which  she  seemed  to  lose  all  consciousness  of  an 
other  presence. 

"  Neither  my  dress  nor  my  feelings  are  suited  to  gayety," 
she  said,  as  she  glanced  at  her  black  dress,  "and  you  would 
not  desire  me  to  forget  the  past ;  you  know  it  is  all  1  have." 

There  was  a  moment's  embarrassed  silence,  and  then 
Mr.  Mortimer  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  must  excuse  her  from 
the  gaieties,  Mrs.  Moray  ;  she  is  hardly  strong  enough  fob 
them  ;  but  we  will  keep  a  little  cheerfulness  for  you  if  you 
will  come  and  see  us  often." 

And  unable  to  obtain  any  greater  concession,  Mrs.  Mo 
ray  went  away,  promising  to  come  very  often. 

How  strange  are  the  revelations  we  sometimes  obtain  of 
the  oneness — if  we  may  so  express  it — between  man's  lower 
nature  and  the  material  world  by  which  he  is  surrounded. 
We  mark  a  mode  of  action  in  this  material  world  and  an 
nounce  it  as  a  physical  law  ;  but  lo  !  when  we  turn  our  ob 
servation  on  the  world  within  us,  while  its  movements  arc 
unrestrained  by  those  higher  powers  which  connect  us  with 
the  Infinite,  we  find  the  same  law  ruling  there.  Reaction  is 
always  proportionate  to  action,  says  the  student  of  nature's 
laws  ;  resistance  but  increases  the  force  of  that  which  it  is 
not  sufficiently  powerful  to  overcome. 

Harry  Reardon  had  thought  Elise  Cullen,  as  he  said  to 
Charles  Moray,  the  most  piquant  woman  he  had  ever  seen. 
Her  beauty  charmed,  her  wit  entertained,  her  coquetry  ex 
cited  him.  A  languid  wish  had  more  than  once  been  awak 
ened  in  him  that  he  could  secure  her  for  himself,  yet  the 


374:  TWO   PICTURES. 

wish  had  been  followed  by  a  laugh  at  his  own  folly,  for  how 
could  he,  with  his  expensive  habits,  afford  to  marry  without 
fortune  1 — and  he  had  ascertained  that  Elise  was  wholly 
dependent  on  her  mother,  who  was  not  likely  to  give,  with 
her  own  good  will,  either  daughter  or  fortune  to  him. 

Such  had  been  his  cool  reasoning  while  he  believed  this 
pretty  sparkler  had  given  to  him  all  the  heart  with  which 
nature  had  gifted  her ;  but  within  a  few  days  this  had  seemed 
not  quite  certain.  It  grew  daily,  hourly,  less  so,  and  as  it 
did,  the  languid  wish  grew  into  a  strong  desire,  a  passionate 
determination.  Under  the  frank,  gay  exterior  of  this  man 
was  concealed,  almost  from  himself,  a  nature,  slow  to  rouse, 
but,  once  roused,  unsurpassed  in  the  force  of  passion  and  the 
persistency  of  will.  The  experiences  of  his  life  had  taught 
him  not  to  subdue  himself,  but  to  bear  down  opposing  cir 
cumstances.  Left  an  unconnected  orphan  while  yet  but  a 
boy,  he  found  that  his  father  had  dissipated  his  fortune  in 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  there  was  nothing  which  lie 
could  justly  call  his  own.  In  his  father's  life  of  pleasure  he 
had  shared,  and  the  education  his  powers  had  thus  received, 
and  the  direction  given  to  his  character,  had  neither  fitted 
him  for  any  employment  by  Avhich  fortune  could  be  gained, 
nor  given  the  habits  of  hardihood  and  self-denial  which  might 
have  enabled  him  to  do  without  fortune.  Like  the  steward 
in  the  Bible,  "  he  could  not  dig,  and  to  beg  he  was  ashamed," 
and  like  him,  he  found  a  resource  in  the  habitations  of  his 
friends.  These  friends,  the  former  companions  of  his  father, 
invited  him  at  first  from  pity,  but  he  exercised  his  agreeable 
qualities  with  such  success  that  the  pity  soon  became  liking. 
These  associations  gave  him  currency  in  what  is  called  good 
society.  How  he  maintained  himself  there,  how  he  man 
aged  to  be  the  best-dressed  man  of  their  acquaintance,  and  to 
ride  the  finest  horse,  they  never  asked.  "  Clever  fellow  that ; 
see  how  he  gets  along — he  never  wants  anything,"  they  ex- 


TWO   PICTURES.  375 

claimed;  perhaps,  had  he  wanted  anything,  these  friends 
might  have  proved  less  constant.  It  was  at  this  period  of 
his  life  that  Harry  Reardon  formed  the  wise  determination 
never  to  play  at  games  of  chance  with  those  who  were  his 
hosts,  or  who  had  been  so  and  might  be  so  again. 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  found  himself  in  circum 
stances  in  which  a  departure  from  the  one  self-restraining 
principle  of  his  life  opened  to  him  the  prospect  of  fortune ; 
and  with  fortune,  would  not  the  faithless  Elise  be  his  too  ? 
The  circumstances  of  his  life  had  not  been  favorable  to  the 
cultivation  of  delicacy  of  feeling,  or  purity  of  taste.  There 
was  nothing  repellent  to  him  in  the  thought  that  before  he 
could  win  her,  she  must  prove  that  the  graceful  flatteries  she 
was  now  lavishing  on  another,  were  only  the  tribute  of  a 
venal  soul  to  fortune.  Rather  was  it  a  pleasant  thought  to 
him  that  in  her  heart — if  heart  she  had — she  preferred  him ; 
and  when  prudence  and  inclination  coincided,  a  new  and 
warmer  light  would  gleam  from  her  eyes,  and  shed  its  red 
glow  upon  her  lips. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  thought  that  the  new  sentiment  exci 
ted  in  Charles  Moray  would  render  the  designs  of  Mr.  Rear 
don  innocuous,  by  steeling  him  against  the  attractions  of 
dice,  cards,  or  billiard  balls.  This  would  be  a  mistake.  An 
engrossing  passion  might,  indeed,  have  produced  such  an 
effect,  but  the  pleasant  excitement  of  his  vanity,  which  he 
now  mistook  for  love,  rendered  him  only  the  more  eager  to 
seize,  in  the  absence  of  his  charmer,  on  all  that  might  pre 
serve  the  agreeable  elation  of  his  spirits. 

And  so  it  grew  into  a  habit  that,  at  night,  when  the  la 
dies  had  retired,  and  the  young  men  were  left  alone,  instead 
of  smoking  their  cigars  together  in  the  library,  and  then 
separating  for  their  respective  rooms,  as  had  been  their  ear 
lier  custom,  they  repaired  to  the  billiard  room — one  of  the 
late  additions  to  the  house — and  spent  some  time  in  "  knock- 


376  TWO   PICTUEES. 

ing  about  the  balls,"  as  Reardon  expressed  it — a  process 
which  somewhat  depleted  Charles  Moray's  purse,  for  Rear- 
don  very  frankly  acknowledged  that  play  was  no  play  to 
him  without  betting.  The  bets  grew  larger  after  some 
time ;  then  Reardon  grew  delicate — "  Moray  must  excuse 
him  ;  the  luck  was  so  constantly  in  his  favor,  he  could  not 
consent  to  be  winning  his  money  in  this  way,  yet  to  play 
without  betting — he  would  as  soon  pitch  quoits,  play  mar 
bles,  or  any  other  boyish  game." 

Of  course,  Charles  Moray,  the  new  possessor  of  fortune, 
made  light  of  his  losses,  and  would  not  be  so  niggardly  as  to 
grudge  a  few  hundreds  a  night  for  his  own  amusement  and 
his  friend's.  Then  the  luck  changed  somewhat.  Charles 
Moray  won  about  one  game  in  five — sometimes  about  one 
in  three ;  he  grew  exultant,  acknowledged  he  had  begun  to 
weary  of  being  beaten  all  the  time,  but  now  that  they  played 
on  equal  terms,  it  was  another  affair.  It  was,  indeed,  an 
other  affair  ;  the  bets  were  doubled,  quadrupled,  in  amount — 
the  hundreds  became  thousands — but "  what  of  that  ?  "  Charles 
Moray  said  to  himself;  "  he  would  soon  win  them  back." 

But,  somehow,  in  spite  of  all  his  success,  he  found,  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  that  the  account  stood  largely — more  large 
ly  than  he  liked  to  think — against  him.  Then  the  wine  and 
even  stronger  drinks  began  to  show  themselves  at  the  board, 
and  Charles  Moray,  when  he  grew  heated  with  them,  would 
play  wildly  and  grow  quarrelsome,  if  Reardon  attempted  in 
any  way  to  restrain  him.  He  lost  his  gay,  debonnaire  manner, 
grew  moody  with  all  but  Miss  Cullen,  to  whom  he  became 
more  impassioned  and  less  gracefully  sentimental.  She  re 
garded  these  changes  but  as  proofs  of  her  power,  and  played 
off  upon  him  the  full  battery  of  her  coquettish  airs.  Mrs. 
Moray  was  provoked  with  her  son's  infatuation — of  his  play 
she  knew  nothing.  She  remonstrated  with  him,  and  the  re 
sult  was  a  coolness,  which  put  the  last  seal  on  her  unhappi- 


TWO   PICTURES.  377 

ness,  for  amidst  all  the  worldliness  and  selfishness  and  cold 
inhumanity  of  this  woman,  she  had  still  one  green  oasis  in 
the  barren  desert  of  her  heart — she  loved  her  son.  And  at 
every  new  disappointment,  every  new  pang,  there  was  a 
voice  within  her  which  told  her  that  the  pain  was  punish 
ment  ;  and  the  present  sorrow  oppressed  her  not  so  much 
by  its  own  weight  as  because  it  cast  on  her  the  cold,  form 
less  shadow  of  a  deeper  woe. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  change  of  a  very  different  character 
was  passing  over  the  life  of  Augusta  Moray.  Very  gently 
and  patiently  did  Mr.  Mortimer  lead  her  half-reluctant  steps 
toward  the.  fountain  of  living  waters  at  which  her  thirsting 
heart  might  drink  and  thirst  no  more  forever.  She  had  had 
sufficient  religious  instruction,  but  little  religious  influence 
in  her  life.  This  the  Christian  pastor,  waiting  with  a  serene 
spirit  his  dismissal  from  the  ministries  of  earth  to  the  enjoy 
ments  of  heaven,  was  admirably  fitted  to  supply.  In  the 
light  of  his  life,  so  full  of  tender  care  and  active  labor  for 
others,  Augusta  grew  dissatisfied  with  her  own.  It  was  the 
dawning  of  a  new  life — the  true  life — within  her.  Feeble 
might  be  the  germ,  yet  it  lived,  and  would  live,  and  attract 
all  the  powers  of  her  nature  into  its  own  perfect  develop 
ment.  Henceforth  her  voluntary  life  would  be  not  for  her 
self,  but  for  Him  who  had  redeemed  her  by  that  which  was 
not  only  more  precious  than  silver  or  gold,  but  more  pre 
cious  than  all  she  had  valued  or  coveted  hi  the  past.  Already 
was  there  a  stirring  of  this  new  life  within  her  on  that  peace 
ful  Sabbath  evening,  when  she  had  asked  of  Mr.  Mortimer, 
"  What  shall  I  do  now,  dear  sir  ? — with  whom  shall  I  sym 
pathize  now  ?  "  The  whole  strength  of  her  old  nature  had 
risen  up  against  his  answer  that  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  seemed 
just  then  the  person  who  of  all  within  her  reach  most  needed 
sympathy  and  help.  In  the  spirit  of  the  great  captain  of 
old,  who  had  been  prepared  to  do  some  great  thing  at  the 


378  TWO   PICTURES. 

prophet's  command,  but  whose  pride  revolted  from  the  sim 
ple  act  of  bathing  in  the  Jordan,  she  thought  that  she  would 
readily  have  made  herself  a  servant  of  servants,  devoting 
herself  to  the  ignorant  and  sometimes  disgustingly  filthy  ne 
groes  around  her,  who,  she  had  heard  Mr.  Mortimer  lament, 
sometimes  needed  more  kindly  and  intelligent  care  than 
they  found  in  illness.  There  would  have  been  something 
of  heroism  in  such  ministrations  to  her  peculiar  delicacy  of 
constitution — it  would  have  been  a  sacrifice' worthy  of  the 
altar  on  which  it  was  to  be  laid.  Oh  !  how  little  do  we 
know  ourselves  !  Here  was  the  old  pride  showing  itself 
under  the  very  mask  of  humility,  and  many  weeks  was  ft 
before  she  detected  the  counterfeit,  and  accepting  Mr.  Mor 
timer's  test,  came  to  him  with  an  ingenuous  blush,  and  asked 
if  he  would  go  with  her  to  see  Mrs.  Moray.  They  went, 
but  the  time  had  passed  when  Mrs.  Moray  believed  that 
Augusia  could  do  her  service — the  infatuation  of  Charles 
was  beyond  her  help — and  she  received  her  coldly. 

It  was  now  the  last  of  May.  All  the  visitors  except 
Harry  Reardon  and  Mrs.  and  Miss  Cullen  were  gone,  driven 
north  by  the  hot  breath  of  the  coming  summer.  On  Charles 
Moray  the  coil  of  that  which  men  call  fate,  but  which  supe 
rior  intelligences  see  to  be  the  serpent  we  have  nourished  in 
our  own  bosoms,  was  fastening  with  a  deadly  grasp.  Pleas 
ure  had  been  the  object  of  his  pursuit ;  never  had  he  resist 
ed  its  siren  voice,  and  now  it  was  luring  him  rapidly  down 
to  ruin,  and  he  knew  it,  yet  could  not  resist  its  fatal  attrac 
tions.  There  were  times  when  something  almost  like  fear 
crept  along  his  veins,  as  he  looked  at  Harry  Iveardon  send 
ing  the  ball  with  cool  precision  to  its  destined  spot — times 
when  the  coquettish  glance  of  Miss  Cullen  changed  suddenly 
to  one  of  mocking  malice  from  which  he  shrank  ;  but  he 
quelled  the  creeping  fear  and  silenced  the  misgiving  with 
courage  won  from  the  wine  cup. 


TWO   PICTURES.  379 

Why  linger  on  the  tale — the  end  must  come.  Charles 
Moray  reeled  to  his  bed  one  night  with  confused  noises 
ringing  in  his  ears,  which  even  in  their  confusion  shaped 
themselves  to  the  terrible  words,  "  I  am  a  ruined  man." 

Throwing  himself  on  his  bed  dressed  as  he  was,  he  slept 
heavily  and  awoke  late.  No  noises  now,  but  a  silence  which 
seemed  like  the  silence  of  death.  Was  it  not  death,  seeing 
there  was  nothing  more  for  him  to  hope,  or  fear,  or  do  ? 
Suddenly  he  remembered  Miss  Cullen.  There  was  some 
thing  then  for  him  to  do.  She  must  know  that  he  was  now 
a  poor  man  ;  if  she  still  loved  him — why  did  his  heart  sink 
lower  rather  than  bound  at  the  thought  ?  Why  V  Because 
the  shock  of  a  great  misfortune  shivers  every  false  sentiment 
and  silences  passion,  while  it  only  brings  out  in  added 
strength  the  true  and  simple  affections  of  our  nature. 

Still,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  he  must  see  Miss  Cullen  ; 
he  had  gone  too  far  to  leave  her  without  explanation — he 
must  give  her  the  choice  to  accept  or  reject  him  ;  though, 
should  she  do  the  first,  Heaven  only  knew  what  he  should 
do  with  such  a  wife. 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he  made  his 
toilet  rapidly,  and  refreshed  by  his  morning  bath  and  by  the 
very  act  of  dressing,  he  sallied  from  his  room,  with  less  of 
despair  at  his  heart  or  in  his  face.  He  was  going  to  the 
breakfast  table,  but  as  he  approached  the  room,  he  heard  his 
mother's  voice,  and  with  a  pang  like  the  swift  stroke  of  an 
arrow  through  his  heart,  he  turned  aside  to  the  library,  de 
termining,  under  the  plea  of  letters  to  write,  to  order  his 
coffee  to  be  brought  to  him  there.  He  was  still  in  slippers, 
which  fell  noiselessly  on  the  carpeted  floor  ;  the  door  of  the 
library  was  closed,  but  not  latched — he  threw  it  open,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  bewildered  by  the  sight  before  him. 
There  stood  Harry  Reardon,  his  face  glowing  as  he  bent  it 
above  another  face,  all  flushed  and  quivering — the  face  of 


380  TWO   PICTURES. 

Elise  Cullen — yet  looking  as  Charles  Moray  had  never  seen 
it  look — all  coquetry  and  selfish  scheming  displaced  for  once 
by  a  genuine,  though  it  might  be,  a  light  and  shortlived 
emotion. 

"  How  could  I  know  you  cared  for  me  ?  "  in  the  tremu 
lous  tone  through  which  we  seem  to  hear  the  heart's  throbs ; 
and  "  You  never  would  have  known  it,  if  I  had  remained 
the  poor  devil  I  was  some  weeks  ago,"  in  the  man's  steadier 
voice,  was  all  that  Charles  Moray  heard.  Without  even 
waiting  to  close  the  door  he  had  opened,  he  turned,  and 
went,  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  come,  back  to  his  room. 

Once  there,  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  amidst  a  whirl 
of  thought  over  which  he  had  no  mastery.  His  first  word, 
spoken  after  many  minutes'  silence,  was  the  exclamation, 
"  Fool !  fool !  the  sport  of  an  artful  woman.  Well,  at  least 
I  am  quit  of  that  perplexity." 

He  started  from  his  seat  as  if  there  was  relief  in  the 
thought.  Then,  as  the  scene  he  had  glanced  at  flashed  vivid 
ly  up  before  him,  his  color  rose,  his  brows  knit,  and  "  Ras 
cal  ! "  escaped  through  his  shut  teeth.  "  And  yet  I  do  be 
lieve  she  loves  him — poor  thing  ! " 

The  pitying  epithet  proved  that,  however  his  self-esteem 
had  been  wounded,  his  heart  had  not  been  touched  ;  we  for 
give  not  so  readily  the  wounds  struck  there.  Thought  had 
no  softening  influence  on  his  feelings  to  Harry  Reardon. 
Rather  did  it  bring  out  darker  shades  in  his  conduct,  and  he 
began  to  suspect  more  than  he  saw.  And  St.  Mary's,  the 
treasured  inheritance  of  Mr.  Moray,  for  whose  transmission 
to  one  of  his  own  name  he  had  so  schemed, — the  inheritance 
which  Augusta  had  once  believed  her  own,  was  to  be  this 
man's — and  through  him.  The  thought  was  maddening. 
And  it  was  a  debt  of  honor — not  to  be  examined  into — not 
to  be  postponed — and  his  mother  !  He  started  with  a  new 
pang  at  thought  of  the  disclosure  to  be  made  to  her.  There 


TWO   PICTURES.  381 

was  a  knock  at  his  door.  It  was  from  a  bright-faced  young 
negro  lad,  whom  he  had  promoted  to  the  post  of  his  per 
sonal  attendant.  lie  came  to  ask  if  his  master  would  have 
his  breakfast  brought  to  him. 

"  Where  are  the  ladies  2 "  asked  Charles  Moray. 

"  The  young  un  is  a  ridin',  sir,  wid  Mister  Reardon — I 
year  de  ole  ladies  a  talkin'  purty  loud  in  de  library." 

"  Purty  loud,"  with  a  certain  wink  of  Sambo's  eyes, 
meant  quarrelling.  , 

"  Can  my  mother  suspect  anything  1 "  thought  Charles 
Moray,  as  the  blood  flushed  to  his  brow.  He  felt  it  was 
impossible  in  his  present  condition  to  bear  her  reproaches, 
and  before  he  had  swallowed  the  coffee  brought  him  by 
Sambo,  he  had  made  his  determination — he  would  leave  his 
home — his  no  longer — that  very  day — that  very  hour — he 
would  write  to  his  mother  what  he  dared  not  say,  and  it 
would  depend  on  how  she  bore  the  intelligence  whether  he 
ever  saw  her  face  again.  The  resolution  was  no  sooner 
formed  than  he  prepared  for  its  execution. 

"  Sambo,  tell  Carolina  and  Will  and  July  and  Scipio, 
that  I  want  them  to  get  the  boat  ready  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible  :  I  shall  be  at  the  boat  house  in  twenty  minutes  ;  and, 
sirrah,  if  you  tell  any  one  I  am  going,  I'll  cut  your  ears  off; 
do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  massa,  I  year,"  and  with  a  grin,  which  seemed  to 
say  that  he  had  little  faith  in  the  execution  of  the  threat, 
Sambo  darted  away. 

To  throw  into  a  carpet  bag  and  portmanteau  as  much 
of  the  contents  of  his  bureau  as  they  would  hold,  was 
Charles  Moray's  first  work  when  he  was  left  alone.  The 
next  was  to  write  to  his  mother.  Had  he  had  time  to  think 
about  this,  it  would  have  seemed  impossible ;  but  ten 
minutes  of  the  twenty  were  already  gone,  there  was  no  time 
for  artful  glosses,  and  he  wrote : 


382  TWO   PICTURES. 

DEAR  MOTHER: 

I  am  going  away,  because  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  after 
telling  you  that  St.  Mary's  is  no  longer  mine — it  belongs 
now  to  Mr.  Reardon,  who  will,  I  dare  say,  purchase  what 
ever  belongs  to  you  in  the  house,  and  accommodate  you  in 
any  other  way  he  can — I  am  sure  I  have  little  reason  to 
regret  its  loss  ;  it  was  helping  me  to  the  devil  as  fast  as  1 
could  go.  I  would  give  my  right  hand  that  it  had  been  left 
to  Hugh  or  Augusta.  1  am  going  to  Hugh  now  for  advice. 
Direct  to  his  care,  if  you  write ;  but  if  you  cannot  write 
without  reproaches,  better  not  write  at  all — it  would  not 
take  much  now  to  make  me  send  a  bullet  through  my  brain. 

Your  worthless  son, 

CHARLES  MORAY. 

This  was  not  all — another  note  was  yet  to  be  written  ; 
it  was  to  this  effect : 

To  MR.  REARDON. 

SIR  :  I  am  compelled  to  leave  St.  Mary's  in  haste,  and 
consequently  without  seeing  you.  You  shall  hoar  from 
me  in  New  York,  and  will  find  me  ready  to  take  the  steps 
necessary  to  give  you  legal  control  of  the  property  of  which 
you  may  consider  yourself  now  in  actual  possession. 
Your  obedient  servant, 

C.  MORAY. 

More  than  his  twenty  minutes  were  already  gone.  His 
room  was  in  a  wing  of  life  house  and  on  the  ground  floor. 
Beckoning  to  Sambo,  whom  he  saw  just  returning  from  the 
errand  on  which  he  had  sent  him,  he  handed  out  the  port 
manteau  and  bag,  saying,  "  To  the  boat ;  and  half  a  dollar 
if  nobody  sees  you." 

A  grin  and  a  nod  were  the  only  answer  as  Sambo  caught 
them  and  set  off  on  his  secret  expedition,  evidently  consider- 


TWO   PICTURES.  383 

ing  the  reward  as  already  his.  Charles  Moray  lingered  a 
moment  to  look  around  him  ;  then,  putting  the  notes  in  his 
pocket,  passed  from  the  room  arid  the  house  which  he  was 
never  more  to  enter  as  his.  Hurrying  to  the  boat,  he  found 
Sambo  awaiting  him  there,  expectant  of  his  reward.  He 
was  made  perfectly  happy  for  the  rest  of  the  day  by  the 
reception  of  a  bright,  silver  half  dollar,  with  a  charge  that 
he  should  go  to  the  plantation  and  so  be  out  of  the  way  of 
any  questions  respecting  his  master  till  the  boat  should 
return  in  the  evening. 

The  lingering  summer's  sun  was  nearing  the  horizon, 
when  Mr.  Reardon,  who  could  not  but  feel  some  anxiety 
respecting  Charles  Moray's  unexplained  absence,  found  him 
self  at  the  landing  place  watching  the  slow  approach  of  the 
boat  propelled  against  the  wind  by  the  wearied  rowers. 

"He  is  not  there!"  he  exclaimed  to  Miss  Cullen,  who 
stood  beside  him  ;  then,  with  a  light  laugh,  "  Surely,  he 
can't  mean  to  repudiate." 

"  Never,"  cried  Miss  Cullen,  with  emphasis;  "he  has  no 
brain,  poor  fellow;  but  he  would  not  do  anything  so  dis 
honorable." 

Mr.  Reardon  shrugged  his  shoulders — he  had  not  much 
faith  in  honor  when  opposed  by  interest. 

The  boat  touched  the  wharf. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  your  master  ?  "  he  asked,  step 
ping  toward  the  men,  who  touched  their  hats  to  him,  as  he 
approached. 

They  named  the  little  town  oh  the  mainland,  at  which 
persons,  going  from  St.  Mary's  to  Savannah,  were  accus 
tomed  to  land,  and  where  they  could  procure  conveyances. 

"  Has  he  gone  to  Savannah  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Reardon,  with 
a  darkening  brow. 

"  I  b'lieve  so,  sir  ;  I  seed  the  carriage  a  drivin'  that  road  ; 
but  may  be,  sir,  he's  tolled  you,"  and  the  speaker,  Carolina, 
17 


384:  TWO    PICTURES. 

a  more  than  ordinarily  intelligent  negro,  handed  Mr.  Rear- 
don  the  two  notes  with  -which  Charles  Moray  had  intrusted 
him.  Mr.  Reardon  opened  his  own,  glanced  over  it,  and 
turned,  with  a  quick  step  and  a  smiling  fuce,  to  Miss  Cullen. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  near,  holding  the  note 
out  to  her.  "  Your  mother  must  be  satisfied  with  that,  I 
think." 

"  Perfectly,"  was  the  reply,  as  the  note  was  returned. 
"  With  that  in  your  hand,  you  may  make  your  own  terms 
with  her." 

"  And  with  you  ?  " 

"  You  did  not  need  it  with  me,"  was  the  murmured 
reply,  as  the  brilliant,  yet  somewhat  hard  face,  softened  as 
it  did  to  no  one  else. 

"  Then  you  will  be  mine  at  once — this  very  evening ; 
why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  as  she  exclaimed  quickly,  "  No,  no  ! " 

"  To-morrow,  then — stay,  listen,  before  you  decide  ; — 
here,  in  this  lovely  spot,  we  may  remain  in  peace  for  a  few 
weeks — '  the  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot ' — but 
only  for  a  few  weeks ;  then  I  must  plunge  into  business ;  I 
must  obtain  legal  possession  from  Charles  Moray,  prepara 
tory  to  selling  the  property- — " 

"  Selling  ! "  cried  the  lady,  faintly  ;  she  did  not  like  that 
— the  eclat  of  a  great  landed  property  pleased  her. 

"  Yes,  you  did  not  think  of  my  keeping  it  and  living  here 
out  of  the  world,  did  you  ?  It  will  be,  in  some  of  its  as 
pects,  an  unpleasant  business.  I  shall  certainly  have  to 
fight  my  way  figuratively,  and  it  may  be  really,  to  the  end. 
You  see  I  am  perfectly  candid  with  you ;  candid,  because  you 
are  mine — are  you  not  ?  Stop,  not  a  step  further  till  you 
answer  ; "  he  glanced  around — they  were  alone,  far  from  the 
light  or  hearing  of  others.  "  Now  lift  your  eyes  to  mine ;"  he 
had  faced  round  upon  her,  holding  both  her  hands ;  the  eyes, 
on  which  his  were  fastened,  were  slowly  lifted  as  by  mag- 


TWO   PICTURES.  385 

netic  force  ;  he  gazed,  for  a  moment,  into  them  with  a  bold, 
smiling  face ;  then,  shaking  his  head,  said,  "  No,  it  is  no 
use  fur  you  to  promise ;  I  should  never  trust  those  wicked 
eyes — I  must  seize  my  prize  here,  before  there  is  a  chance 
of 'its  being  borne  away  by  others." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Miss  Cullen,  rousing  herself  to  resist 
what  she  felt  was  an  unreasonable  demand,  "  even  if  I  could 
consent,  my  mother — " 

"  Will  readily  forgive  you  when  the  act  is  done ;  though 
she  may  not  be  willing  beforehand  to  sin  against  her  silly 
conventionalisms  ;  but  listen  to  me,  Elise,  if  we  are  not 
married  before  we  leave  this  island,  we  never  shall  be ;  even 
should  you  remain  true  to  me,  your  mother  will  not  risk 
unpopularity — such  as  I  shall  probably  encounter  before  this 
business  is  concluded ;  besides,  she  will  fear  for  the  end — 
she  does  not  know  that  I  never  withdrew  a  step  in  my  life 
and  never  will ;"  his  face  grew  like  iron  in  its  hardness  ;  "  she 
will  force  you  away ;  I  am  not  one  to  be  played  with  thus — 
so  be  mine  now,  if  it  may  not  be  to-morrow — within  this 
week,  or  we  both  move  from  this  spot  free  as  we  were> 
yester  eve — speak,  Elise ;  but  remember,  your  words  can 
never  be  recalled — I  am  not  Charles  Moray." 

The  name  of  his  victim  was  spoken  with  infinite  con 
tempt  ;  and,  strange  to  tell,  this  girl,  whom  a  gentler,  a 
tenderer,  and  a  more  delicate  love  would  have  failed  to  win, 
was  subdued  by  his  audacity.  He  had  dropped  her  hand  at 
the  last  words,  and  drawn  a  little  apart  from  her.  She 
approached  and  said,  softly,  "  I  will  do  as  you  wish." 

"  That  is  right,"  he  said,  with  a  smile ;  "  I  will  trust  your 
lips,"  pressing  his  own  to  them,  as  he  spoke,  "  though  not 
your  eyes.  Now  listen !  With  this  note  in  my  hand  I 
will  seek  your  mother  and  ask  her  consent  to  our  engage 
ment  ;  that  won,  I  may  sound  her  on  the  question  of  im 
mediate  marriage;  if  she  disapprove,  I  shall  express  a  desire 


386  TWO 

to  be  absent  when  Mrs.  Moray  becomes  aware  that  St. 
Mary's  is  no  longer  her  son's,  and  propose  that  you  shall 
accompany  me  on  a  boating  excursion.  I  know  where  I 
can  find  both  license  and  clergyman  ;  and  once  off'  from 
mamma,  I  promise  you,  she  shall  not  see  you  again  till  you 
are  more  mine  than  hers.  What  do  you  say  ?  Is  it  well 
planned  ?  " 

She  looked  up  with  an  embarrassed  smile,  for  she  could 
not  but  be  conscious  that  there  was  little  respect  for  her 
dignity  or  delicacy  either  in  the  plan,  or  the  bold  manner 
of  its  announcement.  It  was  not  thus  that  she  had  dreamed 
of  being  loved ;  yet  here  were  the  very  qualities  which  had 
excited  her  preference  for  Mr.  Rcardon.  lie  was  only 
proving  that  she  was  right  when  she  said  months  ago  that 
he  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

"  You  do  not  answer,"  he  said,  as  she  turned  away  again 
without  speaking. 

"  Did  you  not  have  a  note  for  Mrs.  Moray  ?  May  not 
that  tell  her  all  ?  " 

"  You  are  right — it  may,"  he  answered,  taking  the  note 
from  his  pocket,  and  examining  the  hastily  written  address, 
as  if  he  had  expected  to  find  the  contents  there.  "  She  shall 
not  have  it  till  we  are  gone  to-morrow  morning,"  he  added, 
decidedly  ;  "  she  will  sleep  the  better  to-night,  and  I  shall 
avoid  a  scene,  which,  of  all  things,  I  hate." 

Mrs.  Moray  was  not  very  much  surprised,  though 
greatly  mortified  and  vexed,  when  told  by  Mr.  Reardon 
that  he  had  a  note  from  her  son,  who  had  been  unexpectedly 
called  to  Savannah.  The  "  unexpected  call "  did  not  disturb 
her ;  it  was  the  thought  "  A  stranger  knows  more  of  his 
movements  than  I  do."  Never  had  she  been  less  in  a 
condition  to  bear  any  sudden  shock.  Her  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Saville  had,  of  late,  inspired  her  with  such  dread 
of  his  encroachments,  that  she  had  almost  decided  to  pass 


TWO   PICTURES.  387 

the  summer  at  St.  Mary's,  solitary  as  it  would  be,  after  the 
departure  of  her  guests,  rather  than  go  North,  where  she 
could  scarcely  hope  to  avoid  meeting  him.  To  this  source 
of  nervous  anxiety  had  been  added  of  late  the  pain  of 
estrangement  from  her  son,  and  the  irritation  against  Mrs. 
Cullen  and  Elise,  excited  by  the  belief  that  the  latter  was 
making  a  decided  and  successful  attack  upon  the  heart  of  her 
son.  She  would  have  been  little  pleased  to  yield  her  power 
as  mistress  of  the  mansion  to  any  one  ;  but  Elise  Cullen's 
sharp  tongue  had  made  her  and,  for  her  sake,  her  mother, 
peculiarly  disagreeable  to  her.  One  of  the  terrible  penal 
ties  of  crime  is,  that  it  shuts  up  the  soul  of  its  victim  in  a 
kind  of  solitary  imprisonment,  forbidding  it  to  seek  the 
sympathy  of  others,  secluding  it  from  communion  with  all 
who  have  not  drunk  of  the  same  unblessed  cup.  From  the 
hour  when  Adam  hid  himself  among  the  trees  of  the  garden, 
the  guilty  soul  seeks  concealment,  and  the  annoyances,  which 
would  shrink  into  scarce  visible  motes,  if  brought  out  to  the 
light  of  day  and  sunned  in  the  smiles  of  a  friend,  grow  to 
portentous  size  in  the  twilight  chambers  of  a  heart  which  is 
thus  shut  and  barred.  Mrs.  Moray  had  lost  much  of  the 
graceful  gayety  which  made  her  formerly  a  general  favorite. 
A  forced  levity  alternated  with  sullen  reserve  in  her  coun 
tenance  and  manner.  For  a  few  days  past  her  depression 
had  been  increased  by  languor,  which  she  attributed  to  the 
unusual  heat,  and  which,  when  she  forced  herself  to  exertion, 
was  succeeded  by  feverish  irritation.  She  looked  ill  this 
evening,  and  no  one  felt  surprised  when,  with  a  slight 
apology  to  the  ladies,  she  withdrew  to  her  own  apartment. 
After  her  departure,  Mr.  Reardon  became  evidently  distrait, 
and  after  answering  several  times  at  random,  and  with  what 
seemed  strange  maladroitness,  Mrs.  Cullen's  attempts  at 
conversation,  he  roused  himself,  crossed  the  room,  and 


388  TWO    PICTURES. 

seated  himself  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  as  Elise,  at  a  glance 
from  him,  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"  Really,  this  place  is  getting  to  be  very  tiresome,"  said 
Mrs.  Cullen,  with  scarcely  concealed  ill  humor,  as  her  quick 
eye  detected  the  glance,  "  I  shall  certainly  leave  it  the  next 
week." 

"  I  hope  not ;  I  hope  to  persuade  you  to  remain  till  the 
middle  or  last  of  June — " 

"  Impossible  !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Cullen,  with  Avarmth. 

"  Do  not  say  so  till  you  hear  my  reasons ;  but,  first, 
will  you  oblige  me  by  reading  this  note  ?  " 

He  placed  the  open  note  of  Charles  Moray  before  her. 
Mrs.  Cullen  glanced  hastily  over  it,  then  read  it  with  more 
deliberation.  Harry  Reardon,  in  the  mean  time,  read  her 
face  as  clearly,  and  a  sarcastic  smile  curled  his  lip  as  he 
marked  its  gradual  softening  and  the  glow  with  which  she 
turned  toward  him. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Reardon  !  you  are  indeed  a  fortunate  man 
• — the  possessor  of  St.  Mary's — why,  it  is  the  finest  planta 
tion  in  Georgia,  I  hear,  and  three  hundred  negroes — are 
there  not  ?  I  congratulate  you  on  being  able  to  make  such 
a  purchase." 

Mr.  Reardon  smiled.  lie  believed  that  Mrs.  Cullen 
knew  as  well  as  he  did,  that  the  acquisition  had  not  been  a 
purchase ;  but  of  this  it  was  not  his  place  to  speak. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  ho  said.  "  You  can  put  the  crown  upon 
my  fortune,  Mrs.  Cullen.  Give  ine  Elise — she  has  prom 
ised,  with  your  sanction,  to  be  mine — to  become  the  mis- 
taea  <.f  St.  Mary's." 

"Dear  child!  Ah,  Mr.  Reardon  !  I  always  knew  she 
preferred  you  to  any  other,  though  I  did  ail  I  could  to  dis 
courage  it — because  I  thought  you,  with  all  your  charming 
qualities,  a  wicked  creature, — not  in  the  least  a  marrying 
man." 


TWO   PICTURES.  389 

"  Now,  then,  that  you  see  how  mistaken  you  were,  you 
will  give  us  your  consent." 

"  Certainly ;  nothing  could  please  me  better — here  is  my 
hand  upon  it." 

He  received  her  hand  in  his,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  it ; 
then,  still  retaining  it,  he  said,  "  Grant  me  one  more  favor, 
and  I  am  your  debtor  for  life  ;  let  us  be  married  imme 
diately—we  are  neither'of  us  so  young  as  to  make  it  neces 
sary  for  us  to  wait  to  grow  older." 

"  But,  immediately  ?  what  would  people  say  ?  it  would 
seem  so  strange." 

"  Not  at  all ;  we  have  been  here,  in  the  same  house,  the 
whole  winter ;  the  worst  that  will  be  said,  will  probably  be, 
that  we  were  engaged  all  winter  and  kept  it  secret  till  we 
were  ready  to  marry." 

He  paused  a  moment ;  but  she  did  not  answer.  She 
was  considering  whether  there  could  be  any  mistake  in  that 
note,  whether  it  was  genuine ;  if  she  dared,  she  would  have 
asked  to  examine  it  again. 

"  A  moment's  thought  will  show  you  that  my  plan  is 
best  for  all.  I  suppose  you  would  not  think  it  proper  for 
Elise  to  remain  after  Mrs.  Moray  leaves  us,  except  as — " 

There  was  a  sudden  change  in  the  face  into  which  Mr. 
Keardon  was  looking,  and  in  a  less  deliberate,  less  hesitat 
ing  manner,  Mrs.  Cullen  exclaimed,  "  That  is  true ;  Mrs. 
Moray  must  go,  I  suppose.  Does  she  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  not — I  have  a  letter  for  her  from  her  son,  which, 
I  presume,  will  tell  her  of  it.  I  kept  it  till  the  morning, 
lest  it  should  spoil  her  rest." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her  when  she  receives  it ;  it  will 
cost  her  something  to  lay  aside  the  dignities  she  has  worn 
so  haughtily." 

The  lady  little  thought  how  much  of  the  dignity  of 
womanhood  she  was  laying  aside  in  this  betrayal  of  the 


390  TWO   PICTURES. 

petty  malice  that  can  rejoice  over  the  mortification  of  a 
rival.  Even  Mr.  Reardon  felt  it,  and  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  slightly,  as  he  said,  "  Chacun  a  son  gout.  I  should  not 
like  it ;  so  I  will  leave  you  the  note,  and  you  shall  have  the 
enjoyment  of  the  scene  all  to  yourself,  if  you  will  only 
promise  that  when  I  come  back  with  a  license  to-morrow 
evening,  I  shall  find  everything  prepared  to  make  me  '  Ben 
edict,  the  married  man.'  Come,  you  had  better  consent ; 
it  is  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
playing  Lady  of  the  Manor  to  Mrs.  Moray." 

"  Well,  I  must  see  Elise  first ;  I  do  not  know  what  she 
will  say." 

"  Send  for  her  ;  I  am  sure  she  will  say  just  what  I  do — 
stay,  there  is  your  maid  in  the  piazza,  I  will  give  her  the 
message." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  will  go  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen,  doubting 
whether  Elise  would  approve  being  thus  brought  down  ; 
but  Mr.  Reardon  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  ;  and  before  she 
had  ceased  speaking,  he  was  in  the  piazza,  on  the  steps  of 
which  Mrs.  Moray's  maid  and  Mrs.  Cullen's  were  seated  to 
gether  enjoying  the  evening  breeze. 

"  Go  to  Miss  Cullen's  room,"  he  said  to  the  latter,  "give 
Mr.  Reardon's  compliments  to  her,  and  say  he  asks  her  to 
step  to  the  library — her  mother  wishes  to  speak  with  her." 

The  woman  looked  surprised,  but  did  not  hesitate  to 
obey  the  order.  She  found  Elise  sitting  in  a  window, 
through  which  the  moon  shed  a  flood  of  golden  light.  She 
had  removed  the  combs  from  her  hair,  and  it  fell  like  a  rich 
veil  around  her,  sweeping  the  floor  as  she  sat. 

"  I  cannot  go,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  the  shining 
tresses,  as  she  heard  the  message,  which  was  delivered  word 
for  word. 

"  Mr.  Reardon  spoke  so  positive-like — I  am  sure  they 
expect  you,  ma'am  ;  shall  I  put  up  your  hair  1 " 


TWO   PICTURES.        '  391 

The  woman  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  promptitude 
with  which  her  usually  self-willed  young  lady  rose,  and, 
gathering  the  abundant  hair  into  loose,  heavy  folds,  confined 
it  with  her  comb  and  passed  out  from  the  room.  When 
she  entered  the  library,  her  cheeks  glowed  like  carnations, 
and  her  eyes  shone  like  twin  stars.  Mr.  Reardon  stepped 
forward  to  meet  her,  and  led  her  directly  under  the  chan 
delier. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  her  so  brilliant?  "  he  asked,  turning 
with  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Cullen,  and  then  letting  his  eyes  rest 
on  her  again,  with  a  bold  admiration  which  could  not  have 
been  tolerated  by  any  woman  but  a  coquette,  in  whom  the 
pure  and  delicate  instincts  of  her  sex  had  lost  their  native 
sensitiveness. 

"  Elise,"  he  continued,  "  your  mother  wishes  to  know 
whether  you  will  consent  to  our  marriage  to-morrow.  I 
have  told  her  you  would  feel  it  was  better  than  to  be  sep 
arated  as  we  must  otherwise  be ;  but  she  wished  to  hear  it 
from  your  own  lips." 

"  Surely,  my  child,  this  is  very  hurried,"  said  Mrs.  Cul 
len,  whose  motherly  heart  was  wounded  for  her  daughter, 
she  could  scarcely  tell  why, 

Elise  hesitated ;  she  raised  her  eyes  to  her  mother,  and 
her  lips  parted ;  she  turned  to  Reardon,  and  they  closed 
again. 

"  Speak,  Elise,"  he  said,  as  his  brow  darkened  percepti 
bly,  and  he  loosened  the  clasp  in  which  he  had  held  her 
hand ;  "  tell  your  mother  if  you  are  willing  to  be  mine." 

"  I  am  willing  to  be  yours,"  she  said,  looking  not  at  her 
mother,  but  at  him. 

"  And  to-morrow,  Elise  ?  " 

"  And  to-morrow,"  she  repeated. 

"  You  will  not  now  refuse  us,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Cullen, 


392  TWO  PICTURES. 

with  something  of  triumph  in  his  tone,  throwing  his  arm 
around  Elise  and  drawing  her  close  to  him  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  I  never  refuse  Elise  anything,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Then  I  will  bid  you  good  night,  for  I  have  something 
still  to  do  before  I  sleep.  Make  your  arrangements  as  early 
as  you  can  to-morrow,  Elise  ;  I  shall  be  off  while  it  is  yet 
night  with  you,  and  return  as  soon  as  possible  with  the 
license ;  suppose  1  leave  a  note  for  Mr.  Mortimer,  asking 
him  to  be  here  at  noon  ?  " 

"  Oh !  the  note  for  Mrs.  Moray,"  cried  Mrs.  Cullen ; 
"  you  must  not  forget  that." 

"  Certainly  not,  here  it  is,"  handing  it  to  her  ;  "  I  think 
it  would  be  most  effective  if  it  were  received  when  Elise  had 
the  right  to  invite  her  to  remain,"  he  added,  laughing  lightly 
at  what  he  called  the  feminine  malice  of  Mrs.  Cullen,  as  he 
withdrew  from  the  room. 

*'  Elise,  he  is  a  bold  man,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen,  doubt- 
ingly. 

"  I  told  you  he  was  afraid  of  nothing,"  answered  Elise, 
with  a  proud  smile. 

And  so  each  saw  the  black  spot  in  the  soul  of  the  other, 
yet  shrank  not  from  it. 

One  of  the  things  that  Mr.  TJeardon  did  before  he  slept 
that  night,  was  to  write  the  following  letter,  which  he  sent 
off  by  the  mail  of  the  next  day.  We  insert  it  here,  both  as 
characteristic,  and  as  giving  the  reader  fuller  insight  into  his 
motives  of  action. 

ST.  MARY'S  ISLE,  May  12/A,  IS—. 

MY  DEAR  PEYTON  : 

I  wrote  you,  three  weeks  ago,  begging  you  to  sell  the 
horse  I  left  in  your  stables,  and  settle  my  hotel  bill  in 
Washington.  I  told  you  then  that  I  had  a  special  liking  for 
the  horse,  and  would  not  part  with  him,  except  to  get  rid 
of  a  teasing  creditor,  whom  I  must  either  satisfy  or  shoot. 


TWO   PICTURES.  393 

This  is  to  countermand  that  order  if  it  be  not  too  late,  and 

to  ask  that  you  will  see  W ,  and  tell  him  that,  as  soon 

as  I  can  go  to  Savannah,  I  will  send  him  a  draft  for  the 
amount  of  the  debt.  You  will  conclude  I  must  have  had  a 
run  of  luck  to  talk  of  indulgence  in  such  an  unwonted 
luxury  as  drafts.  A  run  of  luck  [  Peyton,  I  am  the  luckiest 
dog  alive.  You  were  all  envious  last  winter  of  the  good 
fortune  of  Moray  in  stepping  so  unexpectedly  into  one  of  the 
finest  fortunes  in  the  country.  Peyton,  that  fortune  is  mine ! 
Don't  start  I  have  not  forged  a  will  and  poisoned  him  ;  I 
have  departed  from  my  principles,  it  is  true,  and  played 
with  my  host,  but  the  temptation  was  irresistible — no  man 
who  had  blood  in  his  veins  could  blame  me.  lie  is  a  good 
enough  fellow,  too,  Charles  Moray ;  I  am  really  sorry  for 
him,  or  rather  I  would  be,  if  I  could  be  sorry  for  anything 
to-night ;  but  he  ought  to  have  known  that  he  could  not  play 
with  me ;  I  knew  it,  and  \yould  not  have  made  a  stroke 
against  him,  if  he  had  not  made  me  half  mad. 

Do  you  remember  that  Elise  Cullen,  whose  brilliant 
coquetries  and  sharp  tongue  made  you  all  wild  in  Washing 
ton  last  winter  ?  Think  of  Charles  Moray  wanting  to  mar 
ry  her.  She  would  have  boxed  his  ears  in  a  month.  She 
is  like  a  spirited  young  horse,  that  wants  a  strong  will  and 
a  steady  hand  to  guide  him.  I  wish  you  could  see  how  sub 
missively  she  yields  to  my  lightest  touch — for  she  is  mine, 
Peyton,  mine,  heart  and  soul — and  to-morrow  I  shall  be 
"  Benedict,  the  married  man,"  and  even  her  mother  cannot 
snatch  her  from  my  arms.  Peyton,  I  told  you  I  was  the 
luckiest  dog  alive.  But  for  the  vantage  ground  of  this  fine 
estate  I  knew  Mrs.  Cullen  would  never  give  me  her  daugh 
ter  ;  and  though  Elise  would  have  given  herself  at  a  word, 
that  would  hardly  have  suited  me  without  her  mother's 
sanction,  as  the  old  lady  has  all  the  fortune,  and  a  very  good 
fortune,  too.  I  have  learned  latvly.  Charles  Moray  promises 


394  TWO   PICTURES. 

fair,  and  I  believe  will  stick  to  his  bargain,  but  he  has  gone 
off  to  New  York,  and  that  lawyer  cousin  of  his  may  put 
some  dishonorable  notions  in  his  head — there  is  always  risk 
in  such  cases,  since  the  law  does  not  protect  us  ;  so  I  have 
obeyed  both  prudence  and  inclination  in  pushing  on  affairs 
here  in  a  manner  perfectly  Napoleonic.  After  to-morrow  I 
shall  be  sure  of  a  tolerably  comfortable  living,  if  I  should 
even  lose  St.  Mary's,  and  with  that  living,  my  pretty, 
bright,  spirited  Elise,  who,  think  what  you  will,  is,  just  now, 
worth  both  the  fortunes  in  my  eyes.  Pray  do  not  imagine 
that  any  fortune  would  have  made  me  marry  her,  if  she  had 
not  interested  me — piqued  me.  The  passionate,  self-willed 
thing,  I  can  see,  has  been  accustomed  to  rule  her  mother  and 
every  one  around  her  ;  she  has  found  her  master  now,  and 
there  is  delight  in  mastery  over  such  a  will. 

I  am  afraid  I  have  said  some  foolish  things  here.  I 
wanted  you  to  know  that  I  was*  safe  as  to  the  matter  of  for 
tune,  and  my  head  is  so  full  of  Elise  to-night  that  she  would 
mingle  herself  with  all  I  had  to  say  ;  good  night.  I  shall 
stay  here  through  June,  perhaps  through  July  ;  it  is  quite 
safe,  they  tell  me,  till  August.  Your  friend, 

II.  IvEARDON. 


CIIAPTEE    XIV. 


"  How  would  you  be, 

If  lie  which  is  the  top  of  judgment,  should 
But  judge  you  as  you  are  ?    Oh !  think  on  that, 
And  Mercy  then  will  breathe  within  your  lips, 
Like  man  new  made."— SHA.KSPEAEE. 


IT  was  a  pretty  picture  to  see  Mr.  Mortimer  and  Augus 
ta  Moray  seated  at  their  early  breakfast  in  the  piazza,  draped 
with  flowering  vines.  The  old  man,  with  his  flowing  sil 
very  locks,  and  his  face,  clad  in  kindly  smiles,  was  as  beauti 
ful  in  his  way  as  the  graceful  girl,  whose  dark,  glossy  tresses 
fell  around  a  face  wearing  the  rich  hue  of  health  and  touched 
with  a  gentleness  that  was  not  its  predominant  expression 
in  earlier  life.  Charity  stood  near,  somewhat  more  full  in 
person,  but  scarcely  older  in  face,  than  when  we  first  knew 
her,  with  large  gold  rings  in  her  ears,  and  a  white  handker 
chief,  folded  like  a  turban,  round  her  head.  Charity  ha-d 
concluded  of  late  that  "  'twasn't  'spectable  for  any  but  young 
gals  to  wear  them  bright  red  an'  yaller  things,"  so  her  tur 
bans  were  now  all  white.  Mr.  Mortimer,  at  the  moment 
we  choose  to  look  in  at  them,  is  reading  a  note  which  Char 
ity  has  just  delivered  to  him. 

"  Well,  well ! "  exclaimed  the  good  old  man,  as  he  passed 
the  note  across  the  table  to  Augusta,  "  that  does  surprise 
me.  I  was  quite  sure  when  we  saw  them  last  that  Miss 


396  TWO   PICTURES. 

Cullen  was  engaged  to  your  cousin  Charles ;  did  you  not 
think  so,  my  dear  2  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  very  unkind  if  I  givo 
you  the  answer  which  was  on  my  lip,"  said  Augusta,  after 
a  moment's  smiling  hesitation. 

"  Then  don't  make  it,  my  dear,"  said  good  Mr.  Morti 
mer  ;  "  but  tell  me,  instead,  whether  I  shall  say  that  you 
will  comply  with  the  lady's  request  and  go  with  me  to  the 
wedding." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should  hardly  be  an  acceptable  guest  in 
my  deep  mourning." 

"  But,  Miss  'Gusty,  aren't  dare  a  white  dress  in  de  trunk 
Miss  Moray  send  here  for  you  1 " 

"  I  don't  know,  Charity,  I  have  not  opened  it ;  she  said 
it  was  filled  with  things  I  had  left  in  Washington ;  I  have 
no  idea  what  they  were." 

"  But  I  bin  gone  an'  looked  at  dem,  an'  I  seed  the  beau- 
tifullest  dresses — " 

"  But  I  could  not  wear  those  now,  Charity,"  said  Augus 
ta,  shrinking  from  even  seeing  what  was  associated  with  her 
life  of  gay  ety  in  Washington ;  "  if  there  were  a  simple,  white 
morning  dress  among  them,  I  might  perhaps — " 

"  Well,  jist  give  me  the  key,  Miss  'Gusty,  an'  let  me  go 
see." 

Charity  got  the  keys  and  went  off  with  a  little  conse 
quential  toss  of  the  head  to  an  examination  which  she  had 
long  desired  to  make,  and  Mr.  Mortimer  would  have  risen 
to  reply  to  his  note,  but  Augusta  begged  that  he  would  per 
mit  her  to  write  for  him,  which  she  did,  promising  for  her 
self  that  she  would  come  if  possible. 

In  the  mean  time  let  us  look  in,  at  a  somewhat  later 
hour,  at  the  breakfast  table  over  which  Mrs.  Moray  pre 
sides.  Her  duties  are  not  very  onerous  this  morning,  for 
Mrs.  Cullen  is  her  only  visible  guest. 


TWO    PICTURES.  397 

"  Sambo,  have  you  called  Mr.  Reardon  to  breakfast  this 
morning  1 "  she  asks. 

"  Mr.  Reardon  done  gone  before  daylight  dis  morning 
to  the  main,"  answered  Sambo ;  "  the  main  "  being  the  usual 
mode  of  designation  with  the  negroes  for  any  place  on  the 
main  land,  whether  town  or  country. 

"  I  thought  he  would  find  it  very  tiresome  here  with 
none  but  ladies ; "  the  observation  was  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Cullen,  and  Mrs.  Moray  added,  as  she  handed  her  a  cup  of 
coffee,  "  I  hope  Elise  is  not  altogether  desolee  for  the  same 
reason.  It  was  cruel  in  Mr.  Reardon  to  leave  her." 

"  Not  at  all ;  Elise  begs  that  you  will  excuse  her  this 
morning ;  she  has  so  much  to  do  before  Mr.  Reardon's  re 
turn." 

"  Preparing,  I  suppose,  to  play  off  all  her  batteries  upon 
him  ;  tell  her  she  must  not  be  too  overpowering ;  she  must 
remember  he  is  left  here  all  alone  to  our  mercy." 

"  it  would  be  a  waste  of  labor  for  her  to  get  up  any  bat 
teries  for  Mr.  Reardon,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen,  with  a  smile 
which  Mrs.  Moray  did  not  quite  understand. 

"  What  ?  you  despair  of  him  1  He  does  seem  very  in 
sensible." 

"  Insensible  !  ha !  ha !  ha  !  You  must  excuse  me,  my 
dear,  if  I  laugh  a  little  at  your  blindness.  Sambo,  won't 
you  bring  me  some  hot  water  ?  or,  stay,  a  glass  of  cold  wa 
ter,  if  you  please,  fresh  from  the  well ; "  then,  as  Sambo 
darted  from  the  room,  pitcher  in  hand,  she  continued,  "  I 
only  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him,  my  dear,  to  tell  you  that 
Elise  and  Mr.  Reardon  are  engaged,  and  that  they  will  be 
married  to-day,  if  he  can  get  the  license  and  return  in  time." 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence,  Mrs. 
Cullen  nodding  her  head  and  smiling  up  in  Mrs.  Moray's 
face  with  a  little  air  of  triumph,  and  Mrs.  Moray  staring  in 
blank  amazement,  which  she  vainly  strove  to  hide  ;  at  length 


3D  8  TWO   PICTURES. 

the  words  "  Engaged  to  Mr.  Reardon  !  To  be  married  to 
day  ! "  fell  from  her  lips ;  then,  as  the  color  suddenly  flushed 
her  face,  seeming  to  recover  herself,  she  added,  "  Excuse  me, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Cullen,  if  I  am  taking  too  great  a  liberty,  but 
I  do  truly  sympathize  with  you.  Elise  is  still  too  young 
to  throw  herself  away  on  one  who  could  only  be  regarded 
as  a  pis-aller  ;  my  dear  friend,  you  should  not  consent  to  it, 
even  if  she  had  been  disappointed — " 

"  Disappointed,  indeed  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Cullen,  with  more 
violence  of  manner,  though  perhaps  scarcely  more  bitter 
ness  of  feeling,  than  Mrs.  Moray's.  "  Disappointed  !  Mr. 
Reardon  was  always  the  first  choice  of  Elise." 

"  Oh !  indeed  ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Moray,  with  a  look 
and  accent  that  made  Mrs.  Cullen  long  to  box  her  ears. 

"  You  may  say  oh  !  and  indeed  !  as  much  as  you  like  ; 
I  can  tell  you,  I  had  to  beg  and  entreat  almost  on  my  knees, 
to  make  Elise  civil  to  your  son  when  Mr.  Reardon  was  by." 

"You  don't  say  so?  What  a  good  child  she  must  be, 
that  your  wish  should  have  made  her  so  very,  very  civil  to 
him." 

"  Not  so  civil  but  that  he  found  it  was  of  no  use  to  try 
to  cut  Mr.  Reardon  out." 

"  My  son  try  to  cut  Mr.  Reardon  out !  Pardon  me,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Cullen,  but  the  idea  is  so  ridiculous  that  I  cannot, 
for  my  life,  help  laughing  ;  he  !  he  !  he  !  " 

Mrs.  Moray  lay  back  in  her  chair,  and  gave  herself  up 
apparently  to  the  mirth-provoking  thought,  though  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  her  laugh  was  a  little  hysterical. 

Mrs.  Cullen  rose  from  her  seat ;  at  that  moment  she 
could  hear  nothing  except  the  cry  for  revenge  that  sounded 
within  her.  The  melodramatic  scene  she  had  arranged  in 
her  thoughts  as  the  fitting  conclusion  to  the  marriage  of  her 
daughter,  in  which  Elise  should  assume  the  position  of  the 
urbane  and  sympathizing  hostess,  and  Mrs.  Moray  should 


TWO   PICTURES.  309 

be  compelled  to  bow  her  haughty  spirit  in  presence  of  those 
before  whom  she  had  so  ostentatiously  paraded  her  honors — 
all  this  faded  from  her  mind  in  the  burning  desire  to  crush 
her  there,  even  as  she  sat,  with  the  mocking  laugh  upon  her 
lip,  and  she  believed  she  held  that  which  would  stab  with 
deadlier  result  than  sword  or  dagger.  Her  hand  fumbled 
nervously  in  her  pocket,  scarcely  able  to  draw  out  quickly 
enough  the  little  instrument  of  her  anger. 

"  There's  a  note  that  Mr.  "Reardon  gave  me  for  you  ;  it 
came  to  him  yesterday,  but  he  hated  to  give  it  to  you.  Jt 
may  convince  you  he  is  not  such  a  very  bad ,  Mrs.  Mo 
ray  ! — Mrs.  Moray  !  "  in  a  loud,  startled  voice ;  "  mercy  on 
me !  is  the  woman  going  to  die,  and  Elise  to  be  married 
and  all ! — here,  take  a  swallow  of  this  water."  Sambo  had 
just  returned  from  the  well,  and  stood  gazing  with  stupid 
wonderment  at  the  scene. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  standing  there  like  an  idiot?  " 
cried  Mrs.  Cullen,  glad  of  some  one  on  whom  to  vent  her 
dissatisfaction.  "  Go  and  call  some  one  here,  can't  you  ? 
Cull  Miss  Cullen,  quick." 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Moray  lay  back  in  her  chair,  pallid  and 
seemingly  unconscious.  One  deep  groan  had  been  her  only 
sign  of  life  since  reading  the  terrible  note. 

"  Elise,  what  shall  we  do  1 "  cried  Mrs.  Cullen,  in  a  ter 
rified  voice,  as  her  daughter  entered  ;  "  I  gave  her  the  note, 
and  she  has  been  so  ever  since;  you  don't  think  she's 
dead  ?  "  the  last  word  spoken  in  an  awed  whisper,  with  the 
feeling  that  if  this  were  so,  then  was  she  a  murderer  before 
the  bar  of  conscience  and  of  God,  whatever  human  tribunals 
might  pronounce  her. 

"  Oh  no  !  she  has  only  fainted,"  cried  Elise  Cullen  ; 
"  throw  some  water  in  her  face,"  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  before  Mrs.  Cullen,  who  knew  the  danger  of  so  vio 
lent  a  remedy,  could  check  her.  Drawing  her  breath  with 


400  TWO   PICTUEES. 

a  quick,  oud  gasp,  Mrs.  Moray  passed  her  hand  in  a  bewil 
dered  way  over  her  wet  face,  then  sat  up  erect  and  looked 
around  her,  as  if  waking  from  a  dream.  Her  eyes  fell  on 
the  two  ladies,  then  on  the  note,  still  held  with  a  convulsive 
clutch. 

"  Don't  be  so  distressed,  Mrs.  Moray,"  said  Mrs.  Cullen, 
in  whose  shallow  soul  the  tempest  of  anger  was  already 
subsiding.  Her  voice  seemed  to  call  back  the  past  in  all  its 
vividness  to  Mrs.  Moray,  the  blood  rushed  to  her  pale  face, 
she  rose,  and  though  at  first  compelled  to  grasp  her  chair 
for  support,  soon  stood  erect,  and  with  the  graceful  courtesy 
for  which  she  had  been  celebrated  in  former  days,  thanked 
them  for  their  kindness,  and  regretted  having  given  them  so 
much  trouble,  then  added,  "  Elise,  your  mother  says  I  am 
to  congratulate  you  on  your  approaching  marriage ;  you 
have  my  best  wishes,  my  dear,  if,  indeed,  you  are  deter 
mined  to  marry  Mr.  Reardon ;  but,  first,  take  my  solemn 
assurance  that  Mr.  Reardon  is  not,  and  never  can  be,  the 
possessor  of  St.  Mary's." 

There  was  a  depth  in  her  voice  and  a  gleam  in  her  eye 
which  none  had  ever  heard  or  seen  before.  Mrs.  Cullen  was 
a  little  shaken ;  she  looked  toward  Elise,  whose  own  eyes 
fire.d,  and  whose  voice  trembled  with  suppressed  passion,  as 
she  said,  "  Gentlemen  understand  these  things  better  than 
we  do,  Mrs.  Moray  ;  I  am  quite  willing  to  trust  your  son 
and  Mr.  Reardon." 

"  You  shall  not  do  it  without  warning  ;  they  know  noth 
ing  about  it ;  but  I  " — with  great  emphasis  on  the  pronoun, 
which  was  twice  repeated — "  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Reardon 
can  never  make  you  mistress  of  .St.  Mary's,  and  whoever 
tells  you  he  can,  is  deceiving  you." 

Elise  saw  that  these  repeated  and  emphatic  assevera 
tions  were  producing  an  influence  on  her  mother's  mind,  and 
she  determined  to  end  them.  With  a  haughtily  repellant 


TWO   PICTURES.  401 

gesture,  and  a  vain  attempt  at  calmness,  while  her  whole 
frame  was  quivering  with  intense  irritation,  she  answered, 
"  You  must  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Moray,  I  have  really  no  time  to 
listen  to  such  ravings  ;  it  is  natural  enough  that  you  should 
be  unwilling  to  admit  the  idea  that  this  beautiful  place  is 
no  longer  yours." 

"  And  you — you  fancy  it  belongs  to  you  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Moray,  losing  all  her  self-control,  and  speaking  again  in  a 
tone  of  great  excitement. 

As  she  became  demonstrative,  Miss  Cullcn  regained  her 
quietude  of  manner  and  tone,  so  that  it  was  with  a  firmer 
voice  that  she  said,  "  Not  mine  yet,  Mrs.  Moray,  but  Mr. 
Keardon's,  and  mine  when  I  become  his  wife ;  I  know  that 
I  speak  his  wish  when  I  say  that  it  will  give  us  both  pleas 
ure  to  have  you  remain  as  our  guest  as  long  as  it  may  suit 
von." 

"  Your  guest,  insolent  girl  ?  never  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Moray,  almost  wild  with  rage  at  this  attempt  to  push  her 
from  her  seat  of  power ;  "  I  will  make  sure  of  that  before 
another  hour  shall  pass." 

"  Come,  mamma,  I  really  cannot  stop  here  all  day  ;  and 
now  that  Mrs.  Moray  has  got  over  her  hysterics,  I  suppose 
you  can  come  and  help  me,"  and  with  an  air  of  studied  non 
chalance  she  drew  her  mother  off,  pausing,  as  they  drew 
near  a  window,  to  make  some  trifling  observation  on  a  pass 
ing  object. 

Had  they  paused  to  .mark  the  glance  of  concentrated 
hate,  to  hear  the  low  laugh  that  followed  them,  even  the 
daring  spirit  of  Elise  Cullen  might  have  been  quelled  ;  but 
they  hastened  away,  Mrs.  Cullen  glad  to  escape  from  the 
unequal  war,  and  Elise  triumphant  in  her  success,  bursting, 
ere  she  reached  her  room,  into  a  gay,  joyous  carol,  whose 
trills  reached  Mrs.  Moray,  even  in  her  own  room,  to  which 


402  TWO   PICTURES. 

she  had  hastened,  preserving  the  intensity  of  her  feelings,  and 
giving  stability  to  her  purposes. 

"  She  shall  never  stand  in  this  house  as  its  mistress,  if  I 
have  to  put  everything  at  jeopardy,  if  I  have  even  to  lay 
my  dead  body  across  her  path  to  bar  her  entrance ;  but 
there  is  no  danger." 

Even  while  this  soliloquy  was  passing  in  her  mind,  Mrs. 
Moray  had  drawn  her  desk  toward  her,  and  prepared  to 
write.  More  than  once,  when  goaded  almost  to  madness 
by  Saville,  she  had  contemplated  a  letter  to  Hugh — not  a 
letter  of  confession,  for  hers  was  not  a  penitent  spirit,  seek 
ing  to  make  atonement,  and  ready  to  accept  humiliation  and 
grief  as  the  just  punishment  of  conscious  crime.  It  was 
only  that  what  she  was  no  longer  able  to  enjoy  herself,  she 
would  fling  back  into  the  hands  of  those  to  whom  it  right 
fully  belonged,  and  this  not  from  a  sense  of  justice,  but  to 
snatch  it  from  more  hated  possessors,  and  to  punish  one 
whom  she  had  thought  her  tool,  and  found  to  be  her  tyrant. 
The  tact — such  was  the  name  she  gave  it — which  she  had 
cultivated  so  carefully  and  invoked  so  often,  did  not  desert 
her  even  in  this  hour  of  passionate  emotion ;  there  was  a 
whirlwind  within  her,  but  her  pen  moved  steadily  and  rap 
idly  over  the  page  and  her  expressions  were  clear  and  de 
cided. 

DEAR  HUGH  : 

I  have  long  known  what  I  am  going  to  communicate;  mark, 
1  say  known,  not  suspected.  How  I  learned  it,  it  would  be 
futile  to  ask  ;  there  are  secrets  in  every  life — this  is  mine. 
Why  I  have  not  revealed  it  before  I  will  frankly  tell  you  : 
to  have  done  so  would  have  been  to  strip  my  own  child, 
the  dearest  thing  to  me  on  earth,  of  wealth  which  his  luxu 
rious  habits  made  more  needful  to  him  than  to  you,  or  even 
to  Augusta.  You  will  tell  me  this  was  no  reason  for  hesi- 


TWO    PICTURES.  403 

tation  ;  perhaps  not  to  your  cold  nature — to  me  it  was 
enough.  I  should  have  been  silent  still,  but  the  property 
is  passing  from  Charles  to  those  I  hate,  and  now  I  tell 
you  that  it  never  belonged  to  Charles — that  Mr.  Hugh  Mo 
ray's  will — the  only  will  which  he  intended  to  take  effect,  is 
in  the  possession  of  Savillc.  He  has  not  destroyed  it — 
he  will  not  destroy  it — for  he  thinks  it  an  engine  by  which 
he  may  still  wring  wealth  from  my  unwilling  hands.  So 
much  does  he  value  it  that -he  carries  it  always  on  his  per 
son,  and  is  always  armed  for  its  defence.  Courage  and  cau 
tion — you  will  need  both  to  win  the  prize  ;  but  the  prize  is 
St.  Mary's  Isle  and  wealth  for  Augusta.  I  trust  all  that  is 
dear  to  me  in  your  hands.  ANNE  MORAY. 

"  He  will  think  I  mean  my  honor,  my  reputation  ;  he 
does  not  know  that  at  this  moment  revenge  on  these  harpies 
is  dearer  than  all  else,"  said  Mrs.  Moray  to  herself,  as  she 
glanced  over  her  letter  before  folding  and  sealing  it. 

In  less  than  an  hour  after  leaving  the  breakfast  room, 
this  letter  had  been  written  and  sent  by  a  negro  in  a  canoe, 
who  promised  that  it  should  be  at  the  post  town  on  the  main 
land  before  the  closing  of  the  evening  mail. 

"  And  now  I  may.  be  at  ease — now  I  may  rest,"  said 
Mrs.  Moray,  throwing  herself,  as  she  spoke,  upon  her 
couch  ;  but  she  found  rest  impossible — there  was  a  fever  in 
her  blood,  her  pulses  throbbed,  her  eyes  flashed,  she  walked 
rapidly  about  her  room,  exciting  herself  still  farther  by 
going  over  and  over  again  the  scenes  of  the  morning,  and 
painting  the  disappointment  which  the  successful  execution 
of  her  project  would  inflict  on  those  whom  she  called  her 
"  enemies." 

"  I  am  glad  they  are  to  be  married,"  she  exclaimed,  sud 
denly.     "  How  silly  I  was  to  say  anything  that  might  throw  . 
an  obstacle  in  their  way  !    Let  mo  see — ten  days,  a  fortnight, 


401  TWO   PICTURES. 

perhaps, — Hugh  will  bo  prompt,  I  know  ; — their  honey 
moon  will  not  be  long.  That  old  fool  will  just  be  queening 
it  to  the  height,  when  down  she  will  go,  and  find  her  Elise, 
who  has  been  flung  at  the  head  of  every  single  man  of  for 
tune  they  have  met  for  the  last  two  years,  the  wife  of  a  dis 
honored  gamester,  whom  '  she  preferred  to  Charles  Moray,'  " 
mimicking  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Cullen  in  the  last  words.  As 
she  did  so,  a  sudden  flash  of  pain  made  her  press  her  hand 
to  her  head  and  sink  back  again  upon  her  couch ;  but  only 
for  a  minute,  when  she  was  again  upon  her  feet,  saying,  hur 
riedly,  "  I  must  go  to  them  ;  I  would  not  have  the  marriage 
delayed  on  any  account,  and  what  I  said  may  have  fright 
ened  the  mother.  I'll  tell  her — I'll  tell  her, — oh  !  what 
shall  I  tell  her  1 "  pressing  her  hand  again  upon  her  head, 
with  a  bewildered  look;  then  suddenly  brightening  again, 
she  walked  with  a  quick  and  somewhat  unsteady  step  to  the 
door  of  the  room  occupied  by  the  mother  and  daughter. 
Her  knock  was  answered  by  Elise  opening  the  door  herself. 
Her  surprise  at  seeing  Mrs.  Moray  was  speechless ;  but  it 
was  merged  in  satisfaction  as  her  visitor,  entering,  said, 
"  My  dear  Elise,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  I  must  have  treated 
you  very  badly  this  morning.  Charlie's  note  shocked  me  so 
much,  that  I  really  do  not  know  wlmt  I  said  ;  and,  after  all, 
I  begin  to  think  I  may  not  have  understood  it ;  at  any  rate, 
I  will  not  think  of  anything  unpleasant  to-day — your  wed 
ding  day — let  St.  Mary's  belong  to  whom  it  will,  it  shall 
look  gayly  to-day.  Shall  I  arrange  the  library  for  your 
chapel,  and  give  you  Charles's  rooms  in  the  west  wing  1 " 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Moray  !  thank  you  !  that  will  do 
nicely,  I  think,"  said  Elise  Cullen,  shamed  into  a  return  to 
at  least  the  conventional  forms  of  politeness,  by  this  elab 
orate  show  of  kindness,  which  had  the  further  effect  of  at 
once  hushing  all  her  mother's  doubts. 

Mrs.  Moray  next  despatched  a  message  to  Augusta,  so 


TWO   PICTURES.  405 

urgently  demanding  her  help,  that  she  came  to  her  at  once, 
and  aided  her  with  both  head  and  hands,  in  giving  some 
thing  of  a  festal  air  to  the  library  and  the  rooms  she  had 
devoted  to  Elise.  More  than  once  in  their  work,  Augusta 
advised  Mrs.  Moray  to  rest,  as  she  accidentally  touched  her 
fevered  hand,  or  saw  her  burning  cheeks  ;  but  every  such 
suggestion  was  answered  impatiently,  almost  angrily  ;  and 
at  length  she  forbore,  though  saying  to  Mr.  Mortimer, 
when  he  arrived,  that  she  feared  Mrs.  Moray  was  ill,  or 
would  be  soon. 

"  I  do  not  understand  her  at  all,"  she  added  ;  "  she  says 
she  is  glad  of  this  marriage ;  and  yet  1  think  she  is  very 
unhappy  about  something." 

"  Her  son's  absence,  perhaps,"  suggested  Mr.  Mortimer. 

"  It  may  be  ;  though  she  assures  me  she  would  not  have 
him  here  for  the  world." 

They  were  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Moray  herself. 

"  My  dear  Augusta,  not  dressed  yet !  Charity  has  your 
pretty  morning  dress  ready  for  you  in  my  dressing  room ; 
pray,  be  quick.  Mr.  Reardon  has  come,  you  know, — we 
must  not  keep  them  waiting." 

At  two  o'clock  the  little  company  were  assembled  in  the 
library  ;  Mr.  Reardon  looking  triumphant  and  joyous — 
Elise  Cullen  a  little  frightened,  yet  not  the  less  attractive  for 
that  in  the  flowing  silk  with  its  lace  draperies  and  the  white 
orange  wreath,  which  the  taste  and  skill  of  her  maid  had 
arranged  for  her,  and  Mrs.  Cullen  dignified  and  a  little  sul 
len,  for  she  had  not  quite  forgotten  the  scene  of  the  morn 
ing.  Old  memories  and  tender  thoughts  were  giving  a 
quicker  movement  to  Augusta's  pulses  as  she  stood  there  in 
her  simple  white  dress,  seeming,  as  Mr.  Mortimer  fondly 
fancied,  like  something  sacred  with  her  face  always  so  beau 
tiful,  and  now  so  serene  and  gentle.  We  have  said  that  Mr. 
Reardon  looked  triumphant — scarcely  less  marked  was  the 


4:06  TWO    PICTURES. 

triumph  in  Mr,s.  Moray's  smile  as  she  watched  them  with 
unwavering  eyes  during  the  ceremony,  which  bound  them 
together  through  all  the  good  and  ill  of  their  earthly  course. 
As  the  prayer  by  which  Mr.  Mortimer  sought  to  consecrate 
their  union  closed,  she  Stepped  forward  with  the  hurried 
manner  of  one  who  had  restrained  herself  to  the  last  pos 
sible  moment ;  "  I  wish  you  joy,"  she  said,  with  a  courtesy, 
to  Mr.  Reardon,  seeming  entirely  to  ignore  Elise,  "  I  wish 
you  joy  of  your  good  fortune,  Lord  of  the  Isle — " 

"  Not  so,"  said  Mr.  Reardon,  reddening,  yet  bowing 
politely,  "  while  Mrs.  Moray  is  still  here  to  play  the  part  of 
its  Lady." 

"  To  play  the  part !  How  witty  you  arc !  ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 
— play  the  part !  that  is  just  it.  We  are  all  players,  Mr. 
Mortimer  ;  and  so  you  have  been  at  a  theatre  ;  fie !  fie  on 
you,  Mr.  Mortimer." 

She  stood  addressing  Mr.  Mortimer  and  Augusta,  who 
had  drawn  near  her,  while  Mrs.  Cullen  and  the  new  married 
pair  had  moved  a  little  aside,  and  were  watching  her  move 
ments  with  puzzled  looks.  There  was  an  unnatural  excite 
ment  in  her  looks  and  tones,  /or  which  they  could  not  ac 
count  ;  but,  to  Mr.  Mortimer's  more  practised  eyes,  the 
cause  was  plain — she  was  in  the  height  of  an  access  of  fever. 

And  so  life  and  death  were  brought  near  together,  and 
looked,  as  it  were,  into  each  other's  eyes.  Over  in  the  west 
wing  life  revelled  in  young  veins,  and  throbbed  in  young 
hearts,  saying,  with  each  throb,  "  To-day  is  ours — we  live 
and  love  ; " — in  the  east  wing  restless  tossings,  burning  heat 
and  parching  thirst,  with  the  incoherent  mutterings  of  a 
delirious  fancy,  seemed  to  mark  the  approach  of  life's  great 
enemy.  For  many  days,  for  weeks,  indeed,  physicians 
from  the  mainland  came  and  went,  and  Mr.  Mortimer 
hovered  around  that  east  wing,  less  in  sympathy  with  the 
stricken  and  deserted  mother  than  with  her  who  never  left 


TWO   PICTURES.  407 

the  fevered  couch,  except  to  speak  to  him.  All  the  color 
had  faded  again  from  Augusta's  face,  and  much  of  the  bright- 
ness  from  her  eyes ;  her  movements  were  languid,  her  tones 
spiritless ;  yet  she  would  not  listen  for  a  moment  to  Mr. 
Mortimer's  entreaties  that  she  should  leave  Mrs.  Moray  to 
the  care  of  Charity  and  her  own  maid,  long  enough  at  least 
for  rest. 

The  forgiveness  which  had  seemed  so  difficult,  so  impos 
sible  to  Augusta,  was  easy  now.  That  helpless  form,  that 
face  so  death-like  in  its  pallor,  preached  peace  more  per 
suasively  than  even  Mr.  Mortimer  could  do.  It  was  herself 
that  Augusta  now  found  it  hard  to  forgive.  The  keener 
pangs  of  contrition  were  felt  through  the  gentle  stirrings  of 
pity,  as  she  remembered  how  repellant  had  been  her  man 
ner,  how  hard  and  unrelenting  her  heart,  to  that  scarce 
breathing  clay.  For  forty-eight  hours,  the  muttered  ravings 
of  delirium  had  sunk  into  feebleness,  which  seemed  the  pre 
cursor  of  death.  The  physicians  spoke  of  no  hope,  but  that 
which  leaves  us  only  with  the  heart's  last  throb.  The  night 
was  waning  toward  those  chill,  dreary  hours,  the  most  try 
ing  to  the  watcher,  though  they  are  the  immediate  precur 
sors  of  dawn.  Charity,  who  shared  the  vigils  of  Augusta  on 
this  night,  had  fallen  asleep  in  a  large  rocking  chair.  Au 
gusta  bent  over  the  sick-couch  to  moisten  the  parched  lips, 
and  almost  suffered  the  cup  to  fall  from  her  hands,  as  they 
unclosed,  and  in  a  voice  which  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
sigh,  breathed  forth,  "  Who  is  it  1 " 

'•'  Augusta  Moray,"  she  said,  almost  as  softly,  feeling  in 
her  self-condemnation  that  the  name  could  give  no  pleasure. 
It  seemed  indeed  that  her  apprehension  was  correct,  for 
with  a  sigh  the  sufferer's  lips  closed,  and  her  .heavy  lids 
drooped  over  her  dim  eyes.  Half  an  hour  passed  away 
with  no  sound  breaking  the  death-like  stillness  save  the  tick 
ing  of  a  watch,  which  was  painfully  audible  to  Augusta's 
18 


408  TWO   PIG1TEES. 

excited  nerves ;  and  again,  in  pursuance  of  the  physician's 
directions,  Augusta  held  the  cooling  draught  to  the  lips  of 
her  charge.  Again  the  eyes  unclosed  and  fastened  them 
selves  upon  her  with  a  strange  intensity. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  she  asked,  in  reply  to  the 
wistful  look. 

"  Forgive  me,"  was  faintly  whispered  in  return. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Moray,  forgive  me — my  pride,  my  cold 
ness,  my  ingratitude,"  and  Augusta  clasped  the  thin  hand 
that  lay  on  the  coverlet  with  a  caressing  touch,  such  as  she 
never  had  given  it,  from  the  hour  that  her  new-found  rela 
tives  first  trod  the  soil  of  St.  Mary's  to  the  present ;  then 
added,  "  But  we  must  not  talk  of  what  would  agitate  you." 

"  I  must  talk — you  do  not  know — all — Hugh's  letter, 
you  remember, — A.  M.  was  Anna  Melville — he  loved  you 
then — always — the  draft  he  sent — there  was  a  note — I  took 
it — "  and  from  the  failing  eyes  there  came  an  intenser  gaze, 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  Can  you  forgive  me  now  I "  And 
Augusta  was  surprised  to  feel  how  easy  it  was  at  this 
solemn  hour  to  forgive  even  these  wrongs — the  deepest  she 
had  known  or  could  know. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself  needlessly,"  she  said.  "  All  is 
forgiven,  and  shall  be,  from  this  hour,  forgotten." 

"  You  do  not  know  all  yet — St.  Mary's — "  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  groaned. 

"  Pray,  do  not  distress  yourself,  you  cannot  bear  it," 
said  Augusta,  soothingly. 

"  I  must — you  must  know — I  wrote  to  Hugh,  I  believe 
— Saville  has  the  will — St.  Mary's  belongs  to — " 

"  Say  nothing  more  about  it,  I  entreat  you ;  you  will 
exhaust  yourself." 

"  And  you  forgive  me  1 " 

"  Fully,  freely,  as  I  hope  that  God  will  forgive  me." 


« 

TWO   PICTURES.  409 

"  God  ! "  what  an  expression  of  awe  there  was  in  the 
whispered  name,  "  will  He  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  He  never  refuses  those  who  ask  to  be  forgiven." 

"  Ask — I  cannot — will  you — pray — pray,"  and  the  fee 
ble  hand  closed  with  all  its  little  strength  upon  that  which 
held  it,  and  the  eyes  hung  as  if  for  life  upon  the  face  that 
bent  above  them. 

Augusta  thought  herself  in  the  presence  of  death — a 
presence  so  intensely  real,  that  all  which  is  factitious  falls 
before  it  and  leaves  our  naked  spirits  in  contact  with  the 
truth.  It  was  nothing  to  her  at  that  moment  that  the  lan 
guage  of  prayer  was  unfamiliar  to  her  lips,,  that  she  had 
only  lately  learned  to  pray  for  herself.  She  thought  only 
of  the  passing  spirit,  the  dread  eternity  it  was  approaching, 
the  mercy  which  it  craved,  and  sinking  on  her  knees,  in 
broken  sentences,  whose  low  but  earnest  utterance  sounded 
like  the  importunate  crying  of  one  who  pleaded  for  more 
than  life,  she  asked  pardon  and  peace  for  both  ;  and  with  a 
tenderness,  which  seemed  new-born  in  her  spirit,  she  com 
mended  the  feeble,  helpless  sufferer  to  the  compassionate 
love  of  the  Divine  Redeemer.  When  her  voice  had  sunk 
into  silence,  she  still  knelt,  and  her  thoughts  still  rose  in 
those  short  ejaculations  which  are  the  most  frequent  lan 
guage  of  strong  emotion. 

"  She  sleeps,"  a  voice  at  length  whispered  in  her  ear, 
and  she  started  to  see  Mr.  Mortimer  beside  her.  "  You  had 
better  sit  there,"  pointing  to  an  easy  lounging  chair  and 
assisting  her  to  rise,  "  I  will  watch  your  patient." 

"  When  did  you  come  ? "  said  Augusta,  softly,  as  she 
obeyed  him,  and  resting  her  weary  head  upon  the  chair, 
suffered  him  to  wrap  her  in  a  large  shawl. 

"  1  have  been  here  half  an  hour,"  then,  as  if  overpowered 
by  all  he  had  heard  and  seen,  with  a  half  sob  in  his  voice,  he 


410  TWO    PICTURES. 

added,  "  God  bless  you,  my  child,  and  grant  you  all  your 
desires  ! " 

All  her  desires  !  Had  she  not  already  received  them  1 
What  could  she  ask  more  ?  As  she  lay  there,  too  weary 
even  for  connected,  voluntary  thought,  there  floated  before 
her  passive  mind  an  image  of  manly  truth  and  unblemished 
honor,  of  "  high  thought  seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy,"  in 
whose  reflected  beauty  the  world  grew  beautiful,  in  whose 
clear  light  every  shade  of  misanthropy,  of  distrust,  of  scorn 
faded  from  her  own  soul,  which, 

"  Like  the  stained  web  i'  the  sun 
Grew  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon." 

If  she  did  not  fall  down  in  worship  before  this  image,  it 
was  because  she  had  become  conscious  of  a  higher  beauty, 
a  more  perfect  purity,  and  we  worship  only  that  which  is 
our  highest  and  our  best.  After  a  while  she  slept  the 
light  sleep  which  care  permits  a  watcher,  but  the  same 
thoughts  so  inwove  themselves  with  her  dreams,  that  she 
did  not  seem  to  herself  to  have  been  asleep  when  Mr.  Mor 
timer  bent  over,  and  whispered  her  name.  Starting,  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  found  the  sunlight  entering  the  room 
through  the -half-closed  shutters.  Her  looks  turned  instantly 
toward  the  bed. 

"  She  sleeps  still,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer  ;  "  I  have  taken 
good  care  of  her  ;  and  now  Charity  will  watch  by  her  till 
you  can  get  some  better  rest  than  you  have  taken  here." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  rested  well.  I  will  change  my  dress  and 
come  and  breakfast  with  you  in  the  library,  if  you  think  I 
may  venture." 

"  I  am  sure  you  may — her  sleep  seems  to  me  more 
natural  than  it  was — she  may  recover  yet." 

A  silent  pressure  of  Mr.  Mortimer's  hand  showed  Au 
gusta's  heart  touched  by  the  hope  thus  given. 


TWO   PICTURES.  411 

A  cold  bath  gave  her  greater  refreshment  probably  than 
such  sleep  as  she  could  have  obtained  in  her  present  excitement 
would  have  done — it  quickened  her  languid  circulation,  and 
wishing  to  show  Mr.  Mortimer  that  she  had  not  suffered  from 
her  vigils,  she  arranged  her  hair  with  even  more  than  her 
usual  care,  fastening  in  its  glossy  braids  a  white  rose  with 
its  rich  green  leaves,  from  which  the  dew  was  not  yet  dried, 
and  put  on,  instead  of  the  wrapper  she  had  worn  for  several 
days,  her  close-fitting  black  dress  somewhat  open  at  the 
throat,  to  show  the  folds  of  soft  illusion  lying  beneath  it, 
which  were  caught  together  just  above  the  bosom  by  a 
bunch  of  fragrant  violets.  So  attired,  she  went  tripping 
down  the  stairs,  with  a  lighter  step,  because  a  lighter  heart, 
than  she  had  had  for  many,  many  months.  As  yet  no 
thought  of  the  difficulty,  perhaps  we  should  say  the  impossi 
bility,  of  making  those  explanations  to  Hugh,  which  would 
be  necessary  to  break  down  the  barrier  raised  by  her 
wounded  pride,  had  mingled  itself  with  the  joy  of  knowing 
that  he  was  all  she  had  believed  him.  So  her  feet  moved 
lightly  to  the  music  in  her  heart  as  she  went  on  toward  the 
library  where  she  expected  to  meet  Mr.  Mortimer.  Why 
was  it  that,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  lock,  the  sudden 
memory  of  that  morning  long  ago,  when,  entering  her 
uncle's  library  unconscious  of  his  presence,  she  found  Hugh 
awaiting  her — why,  we  say,  did  this  rise  before  her  in  such 
truth  of  form  and  vividness  of  coloring  that  it  called  a  rich 
glow  to  her  cheek  1  She  threw  open  the  door,  and — did  she 
dream,  or  was  she  under  the  influence  of  some  weird  en 
chantment  ? — there,  before  her,  standing  near  a  window,  was 
Hugh  himself.  At  her  first  glance,  his  face  was  turned 
away,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  that  tall  form,  whose  pro 
portions  promised  both  power  and  grace — there  was  no 
mistaking  that  noble  head  with  its  attitude  of  command.  It 
was  but  one  breathless  instant.  She  had  no  time  to  with- 


412  TWO   PICTURES. 

draw,  no  time  to  think,  when  he  turned  and  they  were  to 
gether,  she  knew  not  how  and  scarcely  where — she  only 
knew  that  her  head  swam,  that  her  limbs  trembled,  and  that 
she  must  have  sunk  to  the  ground,  had  not  his  strong  arm 
supported  her.  He  placed  her  in  a  chair,  and  turned,  with 
out  a  word,  to  the  window  again.  Her  head  was  bowed, 
her  cheeks  burned,  her  heart  throbbed,  as  if  it  would  have 
burst  its  prison  bounds. 

Overcome  by  a  shyness,  whose  source  it  would  have 
been  hard  for  her  to  tell,  it  was  long  before  she  could  lift 
her  eyes  to  his  face.  When  she  did,  his  were  fastened  on 
her  with  an  expression  in  which  an  angry  cloud  contended 
with  gleams  of  passionate  fondness.  Her  startled  look 
roused  him  from  his  silent  mood. 

"  Augusta !  "  he  exclaimed, — the  tone  was  low  and  deep, 
and  again  she  gave  him  a  quick,  anxious  glance,  from  which 
he  turned  away  and  walked  twice  across  the  room,  ere  he 
approached  her  again,  saying  in  the  same  low,  passionate 
tones,  "  You  are  feeble,  ill,  and  ought  to  be  spared  all  agita 
tion  ;  but  I  can  no  longer  restrain  myself — I  am  but  man, — 
not  ice,  as  you  have  probably  thought  me  ;  but  pardon  me, 
that  I  am  compelled  to  speak  of  myself — it  shall  be  but  a 
few  words.  You  have  wounded  me  where  alone  the  wound 
could  have  aroused  anger,  or  awakened  remonstrance — that 
you  had  thrown  back  with  scorn  the  passionate  love  which 
had  become  a  part  of  my  life — that  you  had  rejected  even 
my  friendship  as  a  presumption  or  an  impertinence,  I  have 
borne  in  silence." 

"  Oh  Hugh  !  "  burst  from  her ;  but  he  seemed  not  to 
hear,  and  proceeded,  passionately,  "  But  there  is  one  thing 
I  cannot — I  will  not  bear, — once  before,  you  suspected  me 
of  an  indelicacy,  inconsistent  with  the  instincts  of  a  gentle 
man,  and  I  forgave  you  ;  and  now  I  find  that  you  actually 
believed  me  capable  of  conduct  that  would  have  proved  me 


TWO   PICTUKES.  413 

not  only  dead  to  honor,  but  to  common  honesty  ;  I  stood 
beside  you  last  night,  and  heard  that  broken  confession 
which — God  forgive  me  ! — I  have  found  it  less  easy  to  par 
don  than  you  did  ;  and  yet  I  can  pardon  her  sooner  than  I 
can  pardon  you — she  knew  not  the  looks,  the  words  which 
had  said  to  you  a  thousand  times  '  I  love  you,' — she  knew 
not,  as  you  did,  the  depth  of  the  falsehood  she  was  fasten 
ing  upon  me,  and  which  you  accepted — no  wonder  you  fled 
from  all  association  with  one  you  believed  thus  recreant  to 
truth  and  honor." 

She  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  seemed  lit 
erally  to  cower  before  his  passionate  outburst,  which  was 
all  the  more  terrible  from  its  contrast  with  his  usual  calm 
ness  and  self-possession.  When  he  paused  she  uncovered 
a  face  from  which  every  vestige  of  color  had  vanished,  and 
lifted  to  him  eyes  which  seemed  glassy  with  despair.  Her 
lips  opened,  but  in  vain — no  sound  issued  from  them.  He 
turned  away,  for  his  heart  was  melting  within  him ;  yet  he 
was  too  thoroughly  angry  to  be  willing  to  show  himself  so 
quickly  appeased.  lie  was  moving  to  the  door.  Was  he 
leaving  her  ?  leaving  her  forever  ?  and  thus  ? 

Pride  dies  hard,  but  hers  sank  down  and  died  at  that 
thought. 

"  Hugh !  Hugh ! "  Never  had  human  voice  shaped  itself 
to  a  more  passionate  appeal,  than  was  heard  in  that  simple 
cry.  It  sank  into  his  soul.  He  turned.  She  had  risen 
from  her  chair,  and  stood,  with  white  face  and  clasped  hands 
and  gasping  breath,  "  Hugh,  can  you  not  forgive  me  1 " 

He  came  toward  her  with  an  eager  step  and  looks  of 
passionate  emotion,  saying,  "  No,  Augusta  !  I  cannot  for 
give  you — I  can  only  love  you  with  the  whole  force  of  my 
being.  Will  you  trust  that  love  now,  and  let  me  prove  its 
truth  by  the  devotion  of  my  life  ?  " 

He  opened  his  arms,  and  with  scarcely  a  conscious  voli- 


41-i  TWO   PICTURES. 

tion  she  passed  within  their  circle  pale,  tottering ;  but,  as 
they  closed  around  her,  and  she  fi-lt  herself  drawn  to  that 
broad  bosom  and  pressed  against  that  beating  heart,  new 
life  seemed  to  flow  through  her  veins — life,  pure  and  joyous 
as  that  of  her  early  childhood,  yet  a  thousandfold  more 
intense. 

Such  moments  can  be  but  moments  in  human  life;  and 
it  was,  perhaps,  well  for  both  that  Mr.  Mortimer's  step  and 
"  ahem  " — both  purposely  loud,  recalled  them  so  soon  to 
the  existence  of  a  world  outside  of  themselves.  What  Mr. 
Mortimer  had  seen  and  heard  on  the  preceding  night,  if  not 
wholly  understood,  had  been  sufficiently  so,  to  induce  him 
to  plan  this  surprise  and  tete-a-ttife,  which  had  begun  so 
stormily,  and  ended  by  effecting  all  he  desired  for  the  twp 
most  dear  to  him  of  all  the  world. 

We  will  leave  the  trio  to  take  "  with  what  appetite  they 
may,"  the  breakfast  which  seemed,  we  suspect,  but  a  grand 
impertinence  to  two  of  the  party,  while  we  turn  back  the 
wheel  of  time  a  fortnight  or  thereabouts,  and  recount  the 
circumstances  that  brought  Hugh  Moray  so  unexpectedly  to 
St.  Mary's. 


CHAPTER   XY. 

"  What  stronger  breastplate  than  a  heart  untainted  ? 
Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just ; 
And  he  but  naked  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted." — Henry  VI- 

CHARLES  MORAY  had  hastened  at  once  to  Hugh,  in  his 
distress ;  yet,  when  he  found  himself  near  him,  the  confes 
sion  he  had  come  to  make,  seemed  impossible.  The  tempta 
tions,  under  which  he  had  fallen,  Hugh  would  have  brushed 
like  cobwebs  from  his  path.  He  had  lavished  in  one  year 
on  the  momentary  gratifications  of  sense,  even  before  these 
debts  of  honor,  what  would  have  seemed  to  Hugh  a  fortune. 
How  could  he  ask  for  his  sympathy  ?  And  yet  from  whom, 
if  not  from  Hugh,  could  he  hope  for  sympathy  and  advice  ? 
Two  days  in  succession,  after  his  late  breakfast  at  the  Astor 
House,  he  walked  to  the  house  in  Beckman  street,  on  whose 
dingy  stairs  and  wall  stood  conspicuously  the  names  of  Hoi- 
ton  and  Moray,  Counsellors  at  Law,  and  walked  away  again 
without  ascending  to  the  little  office,  where  he  was  almost 
sure  of  finding  the  person  he  had  come  to  seek.  The  third 
day  he  might  have  done  the  same,  but  that,  as  he  was  turn 
ing  away,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  very  man 
whom  he  sought,  yet  dared  not  meet. 

"  Why,  Charlie  !  old  fellow  !  so  you've  come  at  last  ? 
I  began  to  think  you  were  anchored  at  St.  Mary's  for  life. 


TWO   PICTURES. 

Come  up  with  me — we'll  find  a  few  minutes  for  talk  between 
the  comers  and  goers." 

Hugh  seemed  to  Charles  Moray  to  have  grown  younger 
in  manner — less  careworn,  more  expansive.  It  strengthened 
him  to  look  into  the  calm,  determined  face,  and  the  serene 
eyes  ;  and  he  followed  him  up  stairs  with  the  weight  already 
a  little  lifted  from  his  heart.  Still  he  was  not  prepared  to  tell 
all  yet.  Perhaps  he  would  go  to  Elizabethtown  to  spend 
the  night  and  then,  when  Hugh  and  he  were  together  in  the 
old  den,  he  would  talk.  In  the  mean  time,  having  passed 
through  a  large  room  where  several  young  men  were  seated,  • 
some  reading,  some  copying,  they  entered  the  smaller  pri 
vate  office  of  Hugh.  Charles  Moray  was  not  altogether  dis 
pleased  to  find  it  occupied.  lie  dreaded,  while  he  desired 
this  tete-a-tete.  The  occupant  was  one  who  was  waiting  to 
consult  Hugh,  and  as  Charles  saw  the  respect  with  which 
his  cousin  was  approached,  and  the  confidence  evinced  in  his 
judgment,  his  heart  was  stung  by  a  new  and  poignant  sense 
of  shame  and  self-condemnation.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
draw  a  contrast,  little  to  his  own  advantage,  between  the 
positions  they  at  present  occupied.  Hugh5  with  little  aid 
from  others,  was  fast  winning  all  which,  having  received  as  a 
free  gift,  he  had  flung  to  the  winds.  Hugh  had  won  far  more 
indeed.  Better  than  fortune,  better  even  than  the  esteem 
and  friendship  of  others,  was  the  self-reliance,  the  calm 
strength,  the  disciplined  powers  which  he  had  gained  in  the 
contest  through  which  he  had  passed  so  successfully.  They 
had  left  on  him  the  stamp  of  a  completed  manhood,  which 
the  maturcst  age  would  fail  to  give  to  him  who  had  not 
lo.-irned  to  conquer  himself,  and  to  postpone  life's  pleasures 
to  its  duties. 

When  his  client  was  gone,  Hugh  took  his  letters  from 
his  desk  and  throwing  himself  into  a  large  armed  chair, 
began  to  question  Charles  of  St.  Mary's  and  of  Mr.  Morti- 


TWO   PICTURES.  417 

mcr.  If  another  name  was  in  his  heart,  it  did  not  escape 
his  lips.  As  he  talked,  he  opened,  one  by  one,  the  letters  he 
held,  looked  at  the  name  subscribed,  threw  aside  some  un 
read  and  glanced  carelessly  over  the  contents  of  others. 
At  length,  one  letter  seemed  to  startle  him  into  more  earnest 
attention.  As  he  looked  at  the  address,  a  deeper  color 
tinged  his  brow.  He  tore  the  letter  open  hastily,  looked  at 
the  name  of  the  writer,  glanced  at  Charles,  seemed  about 
to  speak,  then  turned  again  to  the  letter,  ran  his  eye 
quickly  over  the  contents,  then  read  them  more  carefully, 
too  deeply  absorbed  in  them,  apparently,  to  hear  a  question 
which  Charles  addressed  to  him.  After  this  second  peru 
sal,  his  eyes  remained  for  some  time  riveted  on  the  paper, 
then,  looking  up,  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  that  made 
Charles  start,  "  You  say  y<5u  left  your  mother  at  St.  Mary's 
— was  she  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles,  not  without  some  slight  uneasiness 
at  the  tone  of  the  inquiry,  "  quite  well." 

"  There  was  no  apprehension  of  her  having  fever  ? " 

"  None  whatever ;  but  why  do  you  ask  I  Is  my 
mother  ill  ? "  and  Charles  Moray  grew  pale  with  vague 
apprehension,  as  the  last  words  fell  from  his  lips  in  an 
accent  that  seemed  to  belong  to  a  more  terrible  word,  a 
word  he  dared  not  use. 

"No — at  least  not  that  I  know  of;  but  I  have  here  a 
letter  from  her,  a  very  strange  letter,  so  strange  that  I 
doubted  if  it  were  not  written  in  the  delirium  of  fever." 

Charles  Moray  would  have  given  much  to  see  that  letter, 
yet  he  dared  not  ask  for  it,  for  he  felt  sure  it  contained  the 
history  of  his  own  folly. 

"  Will  you  look  at  it?"  asked  Hugh,  holding  it  toward 
him. 

He  received  it  mechanically  and  in  silence ;  but  the  first 
few  lines  «*ait  the  blood  back  to  his  face,  from  which,  in  his 


418  TWO   PICTURES. 

agitation  at  the  impending  disclosure,  it  had  retreated  ;  and 
before  he  had  finished  the  short  letter,  he  sprang  from  his 
chair,  exclaiming,  "  I  would  give  my  right  hand,  Hugh,  to 
be  sure  that  this  was  true — I  mean  that  you  could  prove  it." 

"  That  is  very  generous  in  you,  Charlie." 

"  Not  so  generous  as  it  seems,  Hugh  ;  I  am  afraid  you 
will  think  me,  as  I  begin  to  think  myself,  a  fool ;  but, 
Hugh,  I  have  thrown  away  St.  Mary's — all  that  fine  prop 
erty  is  now  Harry  Reardon's,  unless  you  can  prove  that  it 
never  was  mine,  and  so,  having  no  title  myself,  I  could 
give  none." 

"  Are  you  jesting  with  me,  Charles  ?  " 

The  lightness  had  passed  from  Hugh's  face ;  it  looked 
grave  even  to  sternness,  as  he  added,  "  I  cannot  believe  you 
would  feel  at  liberty  to  part  with  a  property,  which  you 
know  Mr.  Moray  left  to  you,  to  the  prejudice  of  his  own 
niece,  only  that  he  might  insure  the  perpetuation  of  his  name 
in  connection  with  it — I  will  not  believe  it  of  you." 

"  You  may  believe  it  or  not ;  it  is  no  less  certain  that 
Harry  Reardon  holds  that  property,  and  will  continue  to 
hold  it,  unless  you  can  prove  that  I  had  no  right  to  it.  As 
to  my  being  willing  to  part  with  it — there  was  no  will  in 
the  case ;  though  I  suppose  one  ought  to  take  nothing  which 
he  is  not  willing  to  part  with,  to  a  billiard  table,  with  Rear 
don  for  his  antagonist." 

Charles  Moray  was  now  walking  about  the  room ;  his 
restlessness  betraying  somewhat  of  the  bitterness  which  he 
would  not  express  in  words.  Hugh  sat  for  some  minutes 
»vith  folded  arms,  compressed  lips,  and  eyes  determinately 
•lowncast.  He  did  not  look  up  even  when  he  asked,  in  a 
Voice  which  he  forced  to  be  calm,  "  Did  the  negroes  go  with 
the  estate?" 

"  All — it  was  a  clean  sweep  ;  but,  Hugh,  it's  no  use  to 
look  glum  about  it,"  Charlie  drew  near,  and  stood  leaning 


TWO   PICTURES  419 

on  the  mantelpiece  opposite  to  Hugh.  "  If  it's  gone,  that 
•will  not  bring  it  back — and  I  really  begin  to  hope  that 
Reardon  may  be  disappointed  after  all.  By  George  !  that 
will  be  grand  !  But  now,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  How 
are  you  going  to  get  at  this  will  ?  that,  I  suppose,  is  the 
first  thing." 

•"  If  I  could  only  be  sure — " 

Hugh  ceased  abruptly,  looking  down  upon  the  open 
letter  in  his  hand. 

"  That  it  was  as  my  mother  said,"  suggested  Charlie ; 
"  I  think  you  may  depend  on  her.  She  would  not  be  so 
foolish  as  to  make  such  a  charge  without  being  sure  of  her 
ground.  And  now  I  think  of  it ;  doesn't  she  say  something 
of  Saville's  wringing  money  from  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  it  is,"  and  Hugh  pointed  to  the  passage,  as 
lie  handed  the  letter  to  Charlie. 

"  The  villain  ! "  exclaimed  Charlie,  when  he  had  read  the 
passage  again.  "  That  accounts  for  the  disappearance  of  the 
bank  stock.  He  must  have  found  this  will  among  the 
papers  I  left  for  him  to  examine  for  me,  and  has  kept  it  as 
a  threat  over  my  mother — and  she — " 

Charles  paused  suddenly.  At  that  moment  the  thought 
that  his  mother  had,  by  her  silence,  become  an  accomplice 
in  Saville's  villainy,  had  first  suggested  itself  to  him,  occa 
sioning  a  sharp  spasm  of  pain,  which  sent  the  blood  in  a 
quick  torrent  to  his  brow."" 

"  Hugh  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  an  altered  voice,  "  you  do 
not  suspect  me  of  having  known  anything  of  this  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  moment,  Charlie,  not  for  a  moment ;  and  as 
to  your  mother,  we  must  not  press  too  hardly  on  a  mother's 
feelings — it  was  doubtless  a  great  temptation." 

"  You  will  spare  her  then,  Hugh." 

There  was  shame  and  grief  in  the  tone,  such  as  neither 
the  loss  of  fortune,  nor  the  consciousness  of  his  own  folly 


420  TWO   PICTURES. 

had  caused  in  Charles  Moray.  Hugh  hastened  to  reassure 
him. 

"  Be  assured,"  he  said,  quickly  and  warmly,  "  that  I  will 
make  any  personal  sacrifice  rather  than  compromise  her 
name.  Were  my  own  interest  involved  instead  of  Augus 
ta's,  I  would  not  stir  in  the  question  ;  as  it  is — " 

"  You  must,  of  course ;  but  how  will  you  begin  ?  If 
you  should  write — " 

"  Oh,  whatever  is  done  must  be  done  in  person,  and 
without  warning  ;  I  shall  go  to  Washington  this  evening." 

The  tone  of  the  last  words  marked  that  whatever  doubt 
or  struggle  had  been  in  Hugh  Moray's  mind  had  passed 
away — the  decision  had  been  made.  And  yet,  in  making 
that  decision,  his  mind  had  moved  over  an  area  covered  by  a 
network  of  delicate  threads,  the  careless  handling  of  any  one 
of  which  might  precipitate  into  ruin  his  own  most  impor 
tant  interests  or  those  of  others.  Let  it  be  understood  here, 
as  a  reference  to  Mrs.  Moray's  letter  will  render  clear,  that 
Hugh  did  not  suppose  himself  personally  interested  in  the 
question  of  fortune.  His  action  was  for  the  sake  of  Augus 
ta,  to  whom  he  supposed  "  St.  Mary's  and  wealth  "  alike 
to  belong.  The  object  to  be  attained  was  the  possession  of 
the  will  held  by  Saville,  and  of  proof  that  it  was  the  true 
will  of  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  and  to  do  this  without  compro 
mising  Mrs.  Moray,  of  whose  complicity  with  Saville  he 
had  little  doubt ;  and  last  and  least  of  all,  in  his  estimation, 
— though  certainly  not  least  in  difficulty — he  was  to  deal 
with  a  felony,  as  he  was  firmly  convinced,  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  prevent  the  exposure  of  the  felon,  yet  not  to  subject 
himself  to  the  charge  of  compounding  it.  It  was  to  have 
time  to  think  over  these  seemingly  irreconcilable  objects, 
and  arrange  a  plan  of  action  that  would  embrace  them  all, 
that  Hugh  advised  that  Charles  should  rather  follow  him 
than  accompany  him  in  his  hurried  night  journey  to  Wash- 


TWO    PICTURES.  421 

ington.  Yet,  before  he  reached  that  city,  he  had  resolved 
to  see  Judge  Mellen,  and,  if  possible,  induce  him  to  accom 
pany  him  to  Washington.  It  is  true  this  would  lose  him  at 
least  one  day  of  time,  which  he  could  ill  spare ;  but,  after 
careful  consideration,  he  judged  that  it  was  worth  the  sacri 
fice,  and  accordingly,  having  travelled  all  night  from  New 
York,  and  reached  Washington  in  the  early  morning,  he 
pressed  forward  and  found  himself,  with  six  hours'  further 
railroad  travelling,  about  noon,  at  the  plantation  on  the 
James  river,  where  Judge  Mellen  was  enjoying  a  life  of 
calm  repose  and  domestic  peace.  To  return  to  Washing 
ton  was,  perhaps,  the  least  agreeable  proposition  that  could 
have  been  made  to  the  Judge,  but  he  was  too  kind  and  gen 
erous  to  hesitate  in  his  compliance  when,  without  communi 
cating  to  him  all  his  suspicions,  or  even  all  the  facts  on  which 
he  acted,  Hugh  told  him  that  his  business  in  Washington 
was  to  obtain,  it  might  be  to  compel  an  act  of  justice  to  the 
niece  of  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Moray,  and  that  his  presence 
would  make  the  task  more  possible,  if  not  easy. 

They  arrived  in  Washington  late  in  the  evening,  or, 
rather,  night. 

"  Too  late  for  business  to-night,  I  suppose,"  said  Judge 
Mellen,  as  Hugh  seated  himself  beside  him  in  the  carriage 
which  was  to  convey  them  to  Willard's. 

"  Yes  ;  I  must  rest  to-night ;  I  want  a  clear  head  and  a 
strong  arm  to-morrow,"  answered  Hugh. 

"  A  strong  arm  !  that  sounds  warlike.  Am  I  to  take 
part  in  the  combat  ?  " 

"  No  ;  or,  at  least,  only  as  a  corps  de  reserve,  in  case  I 
should  fail ;  I  fear  it  may  seem  hardly  respectful  in  me, 
Judge,  to  ask  the  sanction  of  your  presence  without  giving 
you  my  confidence  more  entirely  ;  but,  if  you  can  trust 
me—" 

"  Fully;  I  put  myself  under  your  banner — no  light  thing, 


422  TWO   PICTURES. 

let  me  say,  for  an  opinionated  old  fellow  like  me,  to  a 
youngster  with  not  half  his  years  on  his  head." 

"  It  is  no  light  thing,  my  dear  sir ;  I  shall  remember 
it  ever  with  the  deepest  gratitude." 

"  What  time  will  you  breakfast,  gentlemen  ?  "  asked  the 
waiter  at  Willard's,  as  he  preceded  them  up  the  dimly-light 
ed  staircase  to  their  sleeping  rooms. 

"Ask  Mr.  Moray,  he's  captain,"  said  Judge  Mellon, 
good-naturedly. 

"  At  nine  o'clock,"  answered  Hugh,  with  a  smile,  naming 
the  hour  at  which  he  knew  the  Judge  was  accustomed  to 
breakfast  at  home. 

"  Whither  now  ?  "  asked  Judge  Mellen,  the  next  morn 
ing,  as  they  rose  from  the  breakfast  table. 

"  To  the  Navy  Department,  if  you  please,"  Hugh  re 
plied. 

"  Hem — to  Saville  ;  well,  I  am  ready." 

"  So  I  perceive,  sir,  with  thought  as  well  as  action,"  said 
Hugh,  laughingly. 

"  Excuse  me.  Not  another  word — thought,  I  mean — 
will  I  be  guilty  of,  unless,  indeed,  you  will  permit  me  to 
suggest  a  carriage  to  take  us  to  the  department.  A  Wash 
ington  sun  is  no  trifle  ;  a  walk  under  it  may  cause  our  cour 
age,  or  our  strength,  to  exude,  through  more  than  the  ends 
of  our  fingers." 

The  carriage  caused  some  delay,  and  it  was  near  eleven 
o'clock  when  they  were  set  down  at  the  department.  The 
str.'inge  lightness  which  they  had  shown  in  the  morning,  and 
which  so  often  comes  to  men  on  the  eve  of  a  great  effort, 
had  passed  away,  and  the  latter  part  of  their  drive  had  been 
performed  in  silence.  Hugh  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and 
waited  quietly  for  his  companion,  who  descended  more 
slowly.  Judge  Mellen  was  startled  by  the  paleness  of  his 
face  as  he  glanced  at  him,  but  the  iron  firmness  of  the  com- 


TWO    PICTURES.  423 

pressed  lips,  the  sternness  of  the  brow,  the  light  which 
seemed  literally  to  glow  in  the  eyes,  showed  that  it  was  the 
paleness  rather  of  concentrated  determination  than  of  weak 
ness  or  of  fear.  They  entered  the  department  in  silence, 
and  proceeded  at  once  to  the  office  of  the  chief  clerk.  Two 
or  three  officers  in  undress  uniform  stood  chatting  near  the 
open  door  of  this  office,  within  which  Saville  sat  at  his  desk, 
and  beside  him  stood  an  officer,  seemingly  about  to  leave  him, 
yet  pausing  to  say  some  last  words  in  a  tone  of  eager  re 
monstrance,  as  he  pointed  to  a  chart  outspread  before  them. 
Judge  Mellen  paused  to  speak  to  one  of  the  officers  at  the 
door.  Hugh  entered  the  office,  and  as  the  commander  en 
gaged  with  Saville  turned  away,  took  his  place  at  his  side, 
and  in  a  voice  low,  but  deep,  said,  "  I  must  speak  with  you, 
sir ;  shall  it  be  here  ?  "  glancing  at  the  open  door  and  the 
officers,  who  stood  near  enough  to  hear  a  raised  tone  from 
within. 

"  Must !  you  are  imperative,  sir,"  Savillo  said,  sneering- 
ly,  glancing  upward. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  what  else  he  meant  to  say,  fal 
tered  and  died  on  his  lips,  as  he  bent  his  eyes  again  upon 
the  chart.  Hugh  stooped  till  his  words  were  spoken  in  Sa- 
ville's  ear. 

"  It  is  of  Mr.  Moray's  will  I  would  speak  ;  my  informa 
tion  is  so  certain,  I  have  no  objection  to  make  our  interview 
public,  unless  you  prefer  it  should  be  private." 

Saville  visibly  shrank  at  the  first  words,  and  ere  Hugh 
had  concluded,  turned  to  him,  with  white,  gasping  lips,  and 
eyes  like  the  tiger's  when  prepared  to  make  his  spring. 
Again  Hugh's  met  the  gaze  steadily,  and  Saville's  sank  be 
fore  them,  while  with  a  voice  which  strove  in  vain  for  firm 
ness,  he  faltered  out,  "  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  " 

"  Again  I  ask  you,  shall  I  close  the  door  before  I  tell 
you  ?  "  said  Hugh. 


424:  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  If  you  please."  The  tone  was  steadier,  and  the  hand 
which  had  rested  on  the  chart,  moved  a  little  nearer  to  the 
left  side-pocket  of  the  light  summer  coat — changes  which 
Hugh's  quick  eye  perceived. 

"  1  have  a  word  to  say  to  Judge  Mellon  first,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  do  not  be  afraid,  he  knows  nothing  ;  " — then,  raising 
his  voice,  he  called,  "  Judge  Mellen,  will  you  do  me  the 
favor  to  step  here  for  a  moment  ?  " 

Saville  glared  upon  the  Judge  as  he  approached,  and  the 
hand  moved  nervously  again  toward  the  left  side,  while  he 
forgot  to  acknowledge  the  bow  which  Judge  Mellen,  never 
unmindful  of  the  claims  of  courtesy,  made  him  on  his  en 
trance. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind,  Judge  Mellen,"  said  Hugh,  still 
speaking  low,  "  as  to  tell  Mr.  Saville  whether  I  have  com 
municated  to  you  the  object  of  my  interview  with  him  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Mr.  Saville  ;  I  have  followed  him  here 
witVout  knowing  whether  it  was  a  chase  after  a  wild  goose 
or  a  fox." 

"  What  you  know,  sir,  is  of  no  consequence  to  me,"  said 
Saville,  snappishly. 

Hugh  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  but  drawing  a  scaled 
packet  from  his  bosom,  held  it  to  Judge  Mellen,  saying,  "  In 
this  packet  is  a  full  account  of  the  business  which  has  brought 
•me  to  Washington ;  I  intrust  it  to  your  safe  keeping ;  you 
will  oblige  me  by  handing  it  unopened  to  Mr.  Saville  when 
I  leave  this  room  ;  but  should  Mr.  Saville  attempt  to  leave 
the  room  without  me,  stop  him,  and  in  that  packet  you  will 
find  your  warrant  for  doing  so.  Now,  may  I  ask  you,  my 
kind  friend,  to  leave  us,  and  to  close  the  door  as  you  pass 
out  ?  " 

"  Is  that  written  in  the  bond  ? "  asked  Judge  Mellen, 
with  an  almost  playful  reference  to  his  promise  of  obedience, 
while  yet  there  was  an  expression  of  uneasiness  in  his  eyes 


TWO   PICTURES.  4:25 

as  he  glanced  from  Hugh  to  the  pale  and  sullen  face  of  Sa- 
ville.  A  grave  bow  was  Hugh's  only  answer,  and  Judge 
Mellen  turned  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  after  him. 

"  Now  we  may  speak  without  reserve,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Have  a  care,  sir ;  I  am  not  unarmed,  and  you  may  try 
my  patience  too  far,"  and  Saville's  hand  entered  the  pocket 
it  had  been  approaching. 

"  I  will  trust  Mr.  Saville's  knowledge  of  his  own  inter 
ests,  if  not  his  patience,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  "  Any  violence  would  bring  this  whole  affair  neces 
sarily  before  the  public ;  besides,  you  will  find  in  me  a  more 
lenient  prosecutor  than  in  Judge  Mellen,  who  would  imme 
diately  take  my  place.  This  is  irrelevant,  however.  My 
business  is  to  receive  from  you  Mr.  Moray's  will,  which  you 
• — found,  we  will  say — and  have  retained,  from  friendship,  it 
may  be,  for  those  in  possession  of  his  fortune.  The  moment 
you  deliver  it,  I  will  relieve  you  from  my  presence." 

"  And  suppose  I  should  acknowledge  that  I  have  it,  yet 
refuse  to  deliver  it ;  you  know,  if  you  know  anything  about 
it,  that  you  cannot  bring  a  charge  against  me  without  risk 
ing  the  disgrace  of  your  own  name,"  hissed  forth  Saville. 

"  There  is  no  question  of  bringing  a  charge  ;  this  matter 
is  to  be  finished  between  us,  man  to  man ;  the  will  is  on 
your  person,  I  know." 

"  Touch  me,"  said  Saville,  after  a  glance  at  the  stalwart 
frame  that  stood  in  passive  strength  beside  him ;  "  touch 
me,  and  I  will  call  for  help  and  shoot  you  like  a  dog ;  it 
will  be  self-defence." 

"  Judge  Mellen  has  a  packet  which  will  show  you  had 
good  reason  to  desire  my  death  ;  and  he  knows  I  came  here 
unarmed." 

"  D n  you  !  "  muttered  Saville. 

Hugh  only  smiled,  and  remained  watchful,  but  motion, 
less. 


426  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  What  will  you  give  for  tMs  will  ?  "  cried  Saville,  sud 
denly  looking  up. 

"  My  promise  that  you  shall  be  safe  from  any  investiga 
tion  into  the  circumstances  by  which  it  came  into  your 
hands,  nothing  more." 

"1  think  your  testimony  would  hardly  go  for  much, 
since,  if  it  be  true  th  <t  I  have  committed  a  felony,  you  are 
guilty  of  compounding  it." 

"  Felony  !  that  is  an  ugly  word.  There  is  no  felony  in 
finding  a  will  among  papers  which  you  were  authorized  to 
examine.  I  do  not  know  when  you  found  it ;  you  may  not 
have  been  able  to  restore  it  before ;  now  I  am  ready  to  re 
ceive  it." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  send  it  to  you — at  least,  I  will  send 
the  packet  which  I  think  may  be  a  will." 

"  You  will  give  it  to  me  here,  and  now,  Mr.  Saville,  or 
I  call  in  those  gentlemen,  and  in  their  presence  force  it  from 
you,  and  so  prove  your  infamy."  Hugh's  words  were  low, 
but  every  one  was  uttered  with  a  force  which  sent  it  straight 
into  the  coward  heart  before  him.  "  Here,  and  now,  sir," 
he  repeated,  stre'tching  out  his  hand  to  receive  it. 

With  a  muttered  imprecation,  Saville  dashed  on  the 
table  a  packet  drawn  from  the  breast  pocket,  in  which  his 
hand  had  been  placed,  adding,  as  Hugh  lifted  it,  "  Now 
leave  my  office,  sir,  and  never  dare  to  set  foot  within  it 
again." 

"  I  shall  obey  with  pleasure  when  I  am  assured  that  I 
have  what  I  came  to  seek,"  said  Hugh  ;  then,  after  reading 
the  superscription  of  the  packet  and  examining  the  seal,  he 
stepped  to  the  door  and  asked  Judge  Mellen  to  enter.  The 
Judge  having  complied,  and  the  door  being  again  closed, 
Hugh  said,  "  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  to  witness  Mr.  Sa- 
ville's  acknowledgment  that  this  packet  contains  the  latest 
will  and  testament  of  Mr.  Hugh  Moray,  which  he  witnessed, 


TWO  ricTUKES.  427 


and  which  he  has  now  delivered  to  me  for  the  benefit  of  the 
heirs.  You  acknowledge  this,  Mr.  Saville  ?  " 

The  steady  eyes  were  upon  him  —  the  inflexible  tone  in 
his  ears  —  and  after  a  moment's  pause,  he  assented. 

"  I  will  now  thank  you,  in  fulfilment  of  my  conditions, 
to  hand  Mr.  Saville  the  packet  I  gave  you." 

Judge  Mellen  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  without  another 
Word,  Hugh  withdrew  with  him  from  the  room. 

"  Whither  now  ?  "  asked  Judge  Mellen,  as  he  took  his 
seat  again  in  the  carriage. 

Hugh  hesitated  ;  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 

"  To  Willard's,"  he  said  to  the  coachman,  adding,  as  he 
placed  himself  by  Judge  Mellen,  "  I  think  Charles  must 
have  arrived  —  lazy  fellow.  I  have  no  doubt  he  stopped  to 
sleep  in  Baltimore  last  night.  If  he  is  here,  1  think,  as  this 
is  directed  to  you,  we  may,  with  your  permission,  open  it." 

"  Had  you  not  better  wait  till  Miss  Moray  can  be  pres 
ent  ?  " 

"  Under  '  ordinary  circumstances  I  should  say  yes  ;  but 
Miss  Moray  is  in  Georgia  ;  it  may  be  weeks  before  she  can 
come  here,  and  that  document  is  too  precious  to  be  subjected 
to  the  hazards  of  those  weeks  ;  it  must  be  recorded,  and  we 
must  have  certified  copies  of  it." 

"  And  am  I  still  to  ask  no  questions  ?  " 

"  Ask,  my  dear  Judge,  and,  as  far  as  I  can,  I  will  answer 
—  though,  the  truth  is,  I  knoiu  very  little." 

"  But  suspect  very  much." 

Hugh's  face  grew  fixed. 

"  Which  you  don't  mean  to  tell,"  added  the  Judge,  with 
a  slight  laugh,  as  he  glanced  at  that  determined  face. 

"  Well,  I  will  try  my  powers  at  cross-examining.  What 
put  this  business  into  your  head  ?  How  did  you  know  of 
this  will  ?  —  for,  of  course,  you  would  not  have  ventured  to 
attack  Saville  on  suspicion." 


428  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Attack  Mr.  Saville  !  My  dear  sir,  you  labor  under  a 
mistake.  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  that  she  knew 
the  last  will  and  testament  of  Mr.  Hugh  Moray  was  still  iu 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Saville.  My  visit  here  was  only  to  receive 
it  from  him.  It  was  possible  that  Mr.  Saville  might  dis 
pute  my  right  to  receive  the  document,  and  I  therefore  re 
quested  your  company,  believing  that  he  could  not  hesitate 
to  deliver  it  to  you." 

"  And  you  heard  of  this  will  first  from  Mrs.  Charles 
Moray  ?  That  puzzles  me." 

"  Here  is  Charles,  and  our  puzzles  will  soon  be  at  an 
end,"  cried  Hugh,  as  he  stopped  the  carriage,  and  putting 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  called  to  Charles  Moray,  who 
was  sauntering  along  one  of  the  avenues  in  a  spiritless,  dis 
contented  way.  His  countenance  brightened  as  he  saw 
Hugh,  and  he  approached  the  carriage  with  a  brisk  stop, 
shook  hands  cordially  with  Judge  Mellon,  and  took  a  seat 
with  them  at  Hugh's  invitation.  Hugh  drew  the  packet 
from  his  bosom  and  showed  it  to  him. 

"  You've  got  it  then  !  By  George,  I  could  hug  Saville 
for  having  found  it,"  exclaimed  Charles. 

"  You're  a  generous,  noble-hearted  fellow,"  said  Judge 
Mellon,  warmly ;  "  such  a  heart  is  better  than  a  fortune." 

"  Oh,  don't  give  me  too  much  credit,  sir,"  cried  Charlie, 
with  that  frankness  which  was  his  redeeming  trait,  adding, 
with  a  slightly  embarrassed  laugh,  "  Harry  Reardon  has 
more  interest  in  that  document  than  I." 

"  Harry  Reardon  !  hem — there  is  no  puzzle  now,"  cried 
Judge  Mellen,  with  a  glance  at  Hugh. 

When  the  will  was  read,  Judge  Mellen  declared  that  he 
recollected  it  perfectly  as  the  will  which  Mr.  Moray  had 
read  to  him.  Hugh  was  silent  and  grave. 

"  I  am  truly  glad,  old  fellow,  since  I  could  not  keep  it, 
that  it  is  to  be  yours,"  exclaimed  Charles  Moray,  trying  to 


TWO   PICTURES.  429 

speak  more  brightly  than,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  felt 
just  at  that  moment. 

Hugh  shook  the  hand  extended  to  him  without  a  word  ; 
then,  suddenly-  turning  to  Judge  Mellen,  said,  "  Do  you  not 
think,  sir,  that  there  is  some  reason  to  doubt  whether  Mr. 
Moray's  mind  was  to  be  trusted  when  this  will  was  made?  " 

"  Not  the  least.  When  he  read  that  will  to  me,  his  judg 
ment  was  perfectly  clear." 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  proof  of  it  that  he  should  have  left  any 
other  than  his  niece  as  his  heir." 

"  Poor  Moray  !  To  leave  St.  Mary's  to  one  who  would 
perpetuate  his  family  name,  seemed  almost  a  point  of  his 
religion  ;  but  his  niece  is  well  provided  for  by  this  will ; 
the  other  was  inhuman." 

Charles  Moray  reddened ;  then,  turning  quickly  to 
Hugh,  said,  "  There  is  something  I  do  not  understand  in 
this  business.  How  did  my  mother  know  of  this  will  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  you  saw  your  mother's  letter,"  Hugh 
answered. 

"  Where  did  Saville  find  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  I  did  not  ask  him." 

"  Well,  I  shall,"  and  Charles  took  his  hat  from  the  table, 
and  walked  to  the  door,  then  coming  back,  he  said,  warmly, 
"  You  understand,  Hugh — I  have  no  doubt  of  you  ;  but  it  is 
necessary  for  my  mother's  sake  that  this  affair  should  be 
better  understood,  especially  that  it  should  be  known  why 
this  will  was  not  introduced  until  I  had  lost  the  property. 
I  shall  wring  the  whole  secret,  if  secret  there  be,  from  Sa- 
ville's  cowardly  heart." 

He  spoke  with  passion,  and  was  turning  away  again,  but 
Hugh  caught  his  arm  and  drew  him  forcibly  back,  while  he 
said,  "  Charlie,  you  are  no  match  for  Saville ;  nay,  do  not  be 
angry — I  mean  in  cunning,  the  only  strength  of  mean  minds 
like  his.  Choose  a  good  lawyer  and  place  your  case  in  his 


430  TWO   PICTURES. 

hands ;  he  will  unravel  all  the  mystery  and  establish  your 
rights." 

"  I  have  no  rights — I  want  none.  I  tell  you  again,  I  am 
truly  glad  the  property  is  yours  ;  but  I  will  know  all  about 
this  will,  which  could  not  be  found  at  Mr.  Moray's  death, 
and  which  conies  so  opportunely  to  light  now,  just  in  time 
to  prevent  his  fortune  being  made  ducks  and  drakes  of." 

"  Your  cousin  gives  you  good  advice,  Mr.  Charles  ;  put 
yourself  in  the  hands  of  a  good  lawyer — take  Choate,  who 
is  here,  attending  to  some  business  in  the  Federal  Court — 
as  joint  executor  with  your  cousin  of  this  will,  and  guardian 
to  Miss  Moray,  I  will  defend  their  side.  If  it  be  necessary, 
we  will  go  into  court — " 

"  Not  for  me,"  interrupted  Charlie. 

"  Not  for  you,  but  for  the  right,  and  in  order  that  who 
ever  enjoys  the  property  may  do  it  without  a  doubt.  I  think 
I  can  throw  some  light  upon  the  subject  when  I  am  again 
at  home.  I  have  been  accustomed  for  twenty  years  to  keep 
memoranda  of  each  day's  engagements,  and  I  do  not  doubt 
I  shall  find  notes  and  dates  which  will  substantiate  this,"  and 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  will. 

"  And  we  will  go  to  New  York  and  await  the  result," 
said  Hugh  ;  and.  but  half  satisfied,  Charles  Moray  assented. 

The  law,  which  under  ordinary  circumstances  "  drags  its 
slow  length  along,"  moves  swiftly  enough  when  friendly 
parties  meet  with  the  one  object  of  discovering  truth. 
Judge  Mellen  sent  home  for  his  papers,  found  all  the  data 
he  had  anticipated,  and  established  the  fact  that  on  tho 
day  on  which  this  will  was  dated,  Mr.  Moray  had  made  an 
arrangement  with  him  to  call  and  witness  his  signature  to  a 
will,  the  rough  draft  of  which  he  had  seen  and  corrected,  and 
the  several  items  of  which  he  had  noted  and  recorded.  These 
items  differed  in  no  respect  from  those  of  the  will  now  so 
strangely  brought  forward.  Mr.  Saville,  too,  did  not  with- 


TWO    PICTURES.  431 

hold  his  testimony  when  asked  for  by  one  of  the  dignitaries 
of  the  law.  Indeed,  he  gave  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be 
complimented  for  his  clearness  and  conciseness,  after  he  had 
been  told  that  if  any  doubt  was  left  on  the  minds  of  the  par 
ties  interested,  the  case  would  be  brought  into  court  and 
thoroughly  sifted.  He  established,  on  oath,  the  fact  of  hav 
ing  drawn  up  and  witnessed  two  wills,  of  which  this  was  the 
later.  When,  the  other  will  was  produced  after  Mr.  Mo 
ray's  death,  he  had  supposed  that  this  had  been  destroyed, 
and  finding  it  afterward  among  the  papers  left  with  him  by 
Mr.  Charles  Moray,  he  had  retained  it  only  till  he  could  de 
liver  it  into  the  hands  of  some  one  of  those  concerned — in 
deed,  he  had  immediately  informed  Mrs.  Charles  Moray  of 
the  fact.  Nothing  could  be  clearer,  and  so  Mr.  Choate  wrote 
to  his  client,  telling  him  at  the  same  time  that  the  actual 
possession  of  the  estate  gave  him  a  position  from  which  his 
opponents  might  find  it  difficult  to  dislodge  him,  should  he 
suffer  the  case  to  go  into  court,  as  the  whole  burden  of 
proof  would  be  left  on  them.  "  Nevertheless,"  he  added, 
"  there  are  circumstances  in  this  affair  which  make  me  hesi 
tate  to  advise  your  submitting  it  to  the  decision  of  a  legal 
tribunal." 

The  truth  was,  clear  and  concise  as  Mr.  Saville  had  been, 
there  was  not  one  acquainted  with  the  circumstances,  who 
did  not  feel  that  the  next  step  from  this  clearness  would  be 
into  the  deep  profound  of  sinful  human  hearts — into  the 
very  mystery  of  iniquity.  All  shrank  from  that  step  ex 
cept — strange  to  say — Charles  Moray,  who,  now  that  suspi 
cion  had  been  aroused,  felt  its  grasp  more  strongly  than 
any,  dreaded  more  than  any  to  exchange  it  for  conviction, 
yet  experienced  something  of  that  fascination  which  tempts  a 
man  to  throw  himself  headlong  down  the  gulf  whose  very 
sight  has  made  his  brain  reel.  It  was  the  belief  expressed 
by  Mr.  Choate  that  he  might  succeed  in  retaining  the  prop- 
19 


432  TWO   PICTUKE8. 

«rty,  through  some  want  oflegal  evidence,  from  the  heirs  by 
the  present  will,  which  at  length  decided  him.  His  success 
would  be  the  success  of  Harry  Reardon,  the  alienation  of 
the  property  from  the  name  of  Moray,  the  defrauding  of 
Hugh  and  Augusta,  the  triumph  of  injustice.  Better  go  to 
his  grave  with  this  unsatisfied  doubt  standing  as  a  wall  of 
ice  between  him  and  his  mother. 

Hugh  had  awaited  his  decision  in  pitying  silence.  When 
it  was  announced,  he  received  it  with  such  a  clasp  of  the 
hand  as  a  man  gives  to  one  who  announces  to  him  a  great 
sorrow,  and  with  the  few  earnest  words,  "  We  are  brothers 
now,  Charlie." 

"  You  will  go  immediately  to  St.  Mary's?  "  said  Charles 
Moray,  when  they  had  sat  a  few  minutes  in  silent  musing. 
"  I  have  written  this  morning  to  Harry  Reardon  and  en- 
closed  a  few  lines  from  Mr.  Choate,  to  whom  1  had  submit 
ted  the  question  whether  he  could  give  you  any  trouble  in 
the  matter.  The  opinion  was  so  decided  that  I  think  you 
will  scarcely  find  him  at  St.  Mary's,  if  you  give  my  letter 
twenty-four  hours  the  start  of  you." 

When  Charles  ceased,  Hugh  looked  up  and  spoke,  yet 
his  words  bore  little  reference  to  what  had  been  said  to 
him. 

"  How  strange  it  is,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  but  half 
roused  from  a  deep  reverie,  "  how  strange  it  is  that  this  es 
tate,  the  bestowal  of  which  cost  Mr.  Moray  so  much  anxious 
thought,  should  fall  to  those  who  value  it  so  little ; — first  to 
you,  who  could  throw  it  away  on  a  game  of  chance,  and  then 
to  me,  who  am  not  at  all  sure  I  shall  accept  it.  So  God 
pours  contempt  on  human  pride !  " 

"  But,  Hugh,  what  do  you  mean  by  not  being  sure  you 
shall  accept  it  ?  " 

"  I  mean  more  than  I  can  say  in  a  few  words,  Charlie  ; 


TWO   PICTURES.  433 

but  I  will  play  the  Yankee  and  answer  your  question  by 
another  :  What  should  I  gain  by  accepting  it  ?  " 

"  What  should  you  gain  ?  Why,  if  well  managed,  I 
have  no  doubt  it  would  yield  a  clear  fifteen  thousand  a 
year." 

"  I  do  doubt  it  very  much ;  but  suppose  it  did  ;  it  would 
hardly  be  more  than  I  may  one  day  hope  to  realize  from 
my  practice  here." 

"  Then  you  may  have  twice  fifteen  thousand." 

"  You  mean  that  I  may  own  the  Southern  property  and 
draw  its  income  without  living  upon  it  ?  but  that  is  just 
what  I  could  not  do.  No,  no,  Charlie  ;  that  might  do  if  we 
could  '  jump  the  life  to  come.'  Conscience  is  terribly  in  the 
way  sometimes,  Charlie — is  it  not  ?  "  and  Hugh  looked  up 
with  a  smile  from  the  sketch  he  was  drawing. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  ;  surely  you  are  not  one  of 
those  hypocritical  abolitionists." 

"Neither  hypocritical  nor  abolitionist — terms  which  I 
do  not  like  to  hear  you  thus  couple  together ;  I  have  known 
few  abolitionists,  but  among  those  few  there  were  several 
who  were  certainly  not  hypocrites,  though  I  thought  them 
enthusiasts,  it  may  even  be,  fanatics." 

"  That  they  certainly  are ;  but  let  them  pass,  and  tell 
me  plainly  where  your  difficulties  lie  in  the  acceptance  of 
this  property ;  I  do  not  understand  you  any  more  than  if 
you  spoke  in  an  unknown  tongue." 

"  That  would  make  a  pretty  object  in  a  landscape,  and  a 
neat,  convenient  cottage  for  a  poor  man's  family — would  it 
not  1 "  and  Hugh  pushed  over  to  his  cousin  the  sketch  he 
had  been  making. 

Charles  Moray  reddened.  "  You  must  think  me  a  child 
indeed  to  be  put  off  from  a  serious  subject  by  pictures.  If 
you  have  any  secret  motives,  I  do  not  wish  to  pry  into 
them,"  and  he  rose  and  took  up  his  hat  from  the  floor. 


434  TWO    PICTURES. 

"  Sit  down  again,  old  fellow,"  said  Hugh,  catching  him 
by  the  arm  ;  "  1  will  try  to  make  you  understand  what  is 
hardly  yet  plain  to  myself.  I  am  the  farthest  man  on  earth 
from  being  an  abolitionist.  There  are  wrongs  and  evils  in 
connection  with  American  slavery  which  I  would  gladly  see 
abolished — which,  if  I  come  in  contact  with  it  at  all,  I  shall 
fighl  against  with  head,  and  heart,  and  hands,  so  help  me 
God ! — but  so  there  are  in  all  human  institutions.  In  the 
essential  features,  the  dependence  of  the  slave,  the  rule  and 
authority  of  the  master,  I  believe  it  to  be  divinely  appointed 
for  the  noblest  ends.  Woe  be  to  him  who  makes  it  minis 
ter  to  his  selfishness — to  his  degrading  sensualities  !  Woe 
to  him  who  is  indifferent  to  its  grand  responsibilities !  Ham 
was  to  be  a  servant  of  servants  ;  but  it  was  to  be  '  to  his 
BRETHREN,'  through  whom  he  would  still  be  united  to  their 
common  Lord.  Now  you  see  that  if  I  undertake  this  charge, 
with  these  views,  I  assume  no  light  responsibility.  Is  it 
wonderful  if  I  hesitate  between  competency  here,  won  by 
the  exercise  of  a  profession  I  like,  and  say  double  or  treble 
the  income  there,  with  such  a  burden  on  my  life?  I  shall  be 
a  king  on  my  own  land,  it  is  true ;  but,  with  my  views,  I 
must  be  priest  as  well  as  king.  Instead  of  these  people 
living  for  me,  I  must  live  for  them.  I  hope  I  am  no  coward, 
Charlie,  and  yet  I  shrink  from  it,  and  if  I  only  dared,  I 
would  cast  it  off;  but  am  I  at  liberty  to  do  this  when,  with 
out  my  own  seeking,  these  people  are  given  to  me  1  This 
is  the  question  to  be  decided.  I  must  decide  it  at  St.  Mary's, 
and  there  I  shall  go  immediately.  And  now,  how  do  you 
like  my  plan  for  the  houses  of  those  negroes  who  may  merit 
advancement  and  reward  ?  "  and  Hugh  touched  the  sketch 
which  Charlie  had  pushed  away  so  indignantly. 

"  Hugh,  you  make  me  ashamed  of  myself,"  cried  Char 
lie,  clasping  and  pressing  the  hand  thus  outstretched. 

"  If  I  did,  it  would  only  be  what  you  have  often  made 


TWO   PICTURES.  435 

me  feel  while  contrasting  your  cheerfulness  lately  with  what 
I  fear  I  should  have  felt  under  such  a  change ;  and  now, 
Charlie,  you  will  let  me  ask  you,  what  are  your  plans  ?  " 

"  I  must  first  know  on  what  terms  you  will  let  me  off 
for  my  debts  to  you." 

"  Debts  to  me !     For  what  ?  " 

"  For  the  sum  received  from  St.  Mary's." 

"  We  will  offset  them  with  what  you  expended  on  it — 
no  bad  bargain  for  me  either,  according  to  Mr.  Mortimer's 
account  of  your  improvements — and  now,  what  else?" 

"  I  have  tried  everything  except  study  ;  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  ask  Mr.  Ilolton  to  take  me  as  one  of  his  students," 
said  Charlie,  \vith  a  laugh, — "  or  shall  I  write  a  book  ?  " 

"  Do  both  ;  the  book  will  be  capital  amusement  for  idle 
hours  ;  if  it  succeed,  come  and  I  will  build  you  a  cottage  at 
St.  Mary's,  which  shall  be  the  beau  ideal  of  a  literary  re 
treat." 

"  Well !  I'll  think  of  it." 

"  In  the  mean  time,  till  your  mother  comes,  will  you 
make  your  home  with  us,  and  let  me  be  your  banker,  Char 
lie  ?  " 

And  so  they  parted,  the  one  to  choose  between  two  posi 
tions  of  honor  and  affluence,  both  gained  by  the  honest  dis 
charge  of  duty — the  other  to  seek  some  means  of  opening 
that  yet  closed  oyster — the  world.  Truly,  as  we  sow  we 
shall  reap. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"And  so,  from  hour  to  hour  we  lipe  and  ripa, 
And  then,  from  hour  to  hour  we  rot  and  rot, 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale."— SUAKSI'EAKE. 

THERE  are  hours  in  which  the  interests,  the  joys,  the 
cares  of  long  years  seem  to  be  compressed.  Such  were  the 
early  hours  of  the  day  after  Hugh's  arrival  at  St.  Mary's. 
The  great  gulf  which  treachery  had  dug  between  him  and 
Augusta  had  been  passed,  and  once  more  they  stood  with 
hearts  unveiled  and  hand  linked  in  hand,  as  they  had  done 
long  years  before,  under  the  same  soft  skies.  Except  in  the 
house  itself  there  was  little  change  around  them.  Old 
Ocean  tossed  as  restlessly  on  his  sandy  bed,  and  moaned  as 
loudly  as  ever,  when  the  wild  winds  were  abroad  ;  and  when 
they  were  still,  the  wavelets  danced  as  gayly  and  flashed  back 
the  sunlight  from  their  diamond  spray  as  merrily  as  they 
had  done  of  old.  The  flowers  still  bloomed  from  which  Au 
gusta  had  woven  wreaths  to  deck  her  childish  beauty,  and 
the  old  oaks  still  stretched  out  their  giant  arms,  and  waved 
abroad  their  gray  drapery.  But  how  different  was  all  within 
them.  That  wondering  look  into  the  future  which  hopes  all 
and  fears  nothing,  that  carelessness  of  the  present  which  drops 
its  brightest  possession  to  grasp  the  unknown — these,  the 


TWO   PICTURES.  437 

characteristics  of  opening  life,  were  gone,  and  in  their  place 
were  memories  sweet  and  bitter,  not  one  of  which,  even  the 
bitterest,  would  have  been  willingly  surrendered,  and  a 
solemn  sense  of  the  responsibilities  of  the  present  as  the 
seedtime  of  the  future.  In  him  experience  had  wrought 
calm  self-reliance,  not  incompatible  with  the  humblest  sense 
of  his  dependence  upon  a  Heavenly  guide ;  to  her  it  had 
given  a  deeper  insight  into  the  requirements  of  her  nature ; 
she  knew  that  life  would  lose  not  only  much  of  its  grace 
and  sweetness,  but  much  also  of  its  worth  and  dignity,  if 
she  could  not  draw  from  his  stronger  soul,  stability  for  her 
purposes,  confidence  in  her  aims,  and  a  quiet  assurance  of 
the  ultimate  triumph  of  truth  and  justice.  He,  the  type  to 
her  of  a  guardian  Providence,  a  union  of  strength,  wisdom, 
and  benevolence ;  she,  to  him,  the  brightest  emanation  of 
love,  that  principle  which  pervades  and  attracts  all,  which 
conquers  even  in  yielding.  Poet  and  novelist  have  striven 
in  vain  to  paint  that  light  tenderer  than  the  moon,  warmer 
than  the  sun,  which  kindles  all  nature, — all  life,  into  a 
diviner  glow  when  two  hearts  thus  answer  to  each  other. 
It  matters  little  to  them  whether  their  path  be  overarched 
by  the  laurel  and  the  rose,  or  shadowed  by  cypress  boughs, 
they  carry  within  them  light  music  and  ever-springing 
flowers. 

"  Have  you  written  to  Charles  of  his  mother's  illness  ?  " 
asked  Hugh,  as  Mr.  Mortimer  still  lingered  over  the  cup  of 
coffee,  which  was  his  nearest  approach  to  a  sensual  indul 
gence,  and  Augusta  waited  to  supply  him  with  another. 

"  I  wrote  a  week  ago,  which  was  as  soon  as  she  would 
permit  me  ;  she  seemed  before  tthat  to  dread  his  return — by 
the  by,  she  told  me  something  about  a  will,  Hugh ;  could 
she  have  been  delirious  ?  It  was  something  about  Saville — " 

"  She  told  you  probably  that  Saville  had  your  uncle's 


438  TWO   PICTURES. 

will — she  wrote  me  on  the  same  subject — her  letter  was 
written  on  the  13th  of  May,  nearly  a  month  ago." 

"  The  very  day  she  was  taken  ill — the  day  of  Mr.  Rear- 
don's  marriage." 

"  I  have  not  been  idle  since,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  it  has  been 
little  more  than  three  weeks  since  I  received  the  letter,  and 
here,"  taking  out  a  pocketbook,  and  producing  a  folded 
paper  as  he  spoke,  "  here  is  a  copy  of  your  uncle's  will — the 
original  is  in  Judge  Mellcn's  hands,  and  the  will  has  been 
recorded." 

Augusta  grew  pale  as  she  received  the  paper  and  held  it 
still  unfolded. 

"  Read  it,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  smile,  meant  to  inspire 
her  with  courage,  "  or  shall  I  read  it  for  you  1 " 

"  No  !  tell  me ;  but  first,  how  did  Mr.  Saville  get  it  ? 
how  did  Mrs.  Moray  know  ?  " 

"  1  know  not — I  do  not  wish  to  know ;  he  says  he  found 
it — we  will  try  to  believe  him." 

"That  is  right,  Hugh,"  said  Mr.  Mortimer;  "chanty 
believeth  all  things." 

"  For  the  sake  of  your  uncle's  memory,  dear  Augusta, 
you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  he  did  not  forget  your  claims 
upon  him ;  keep  this  copy  and  read  it  by  and  by — it  will 
please  you  to  read  the  tender  words  in  which  you  are  named 
as  his  '  dearly  loved  and  dutiful  niece — his  nurse  and  com 
forter.'  " 

Tears  rushed  to  Augusta's  eyes — her  lips  quivered,  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  clasped  hands,  she  wept,  soothed, 
but  not  restrained,  by  the  silent  sympathy  of  Hugh,  who 
rose  and  stood  near  her  with  his  hand  resting  on  her  chair. 
As  her  sobs  grew  fainter,  he  spoke  again,  in  a  tone  which 
conveyed  all  of  tenderness  that  the  fondest  epithets  could 
have  done. 

"You  were  left  with  railroad  and  bank  stocks,  which  it 


TWO   PICTURES.  439 

was  supposed  would  produce  an  income  of  two  thousand 
dollars  per  annum — if  it  failed  to  do  this,  the  property  here 
was  to  be  taxed  to  make  up  the  deficiency  ;  but  your  home, 
this  dear  St.  Mary's,  can  only  be  yours,  dear. Augusta,  by 
taking  an  incumbrance  with  it — it  was  left  to  me." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  !  "  and  a  face  full  of  emotion,  smiles 
dancing  on  the  lips  and  dimpling  the  cheek,  while  the  long 
lashes  were  yet  wet  with  tears,  was  lifted  to  him. 

It  was  irresistible,  and  Hugh  had  kissed  the  glowing 
cheek  before  he  remembered  that  Mr.  Mortimer  was  pres 
ent.  Mr.  Mortimer  thought  of  some  old  poet's  "  love  ever 
young,"  as  he  met  a  brighter  smile  than  he  remembered  to 
have  ever  seen  before  on  Hugh's  face  and  heard  his  almost 
boyish,  "  Indeed,  I  could  not  help  it,  sir,"  in  excuse.  Then, 
ere  Augusta  had  made  up  her  mind  whether  to  frown  or 
smile,  he  continued,  "  I  was  not  glad  at  first,  dearest ;  in 
deed  I  came  here  doubtful  whether  I  should  accept  it, 
anxious  to  find  some  way  of  avoiding  that  which  involves 
the  entire  sacrifice  of  all  my  plans  of  life — " 

"  Hugh  ! "  and  "  Oh  Hugh  !  "  in  different  tones,  yet  both 
expressive  of  painful  surprise,  burst  from  his  auditors. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  dear  love, — if  I  should  drop  the 
burden  it  would  only  fall  on  you,  and  so  I  must  take  it  up 
again.  Mr.  Mortimer  must  help  us  to  bear  it ;  he  must 
teach  us  what  to  do  for  these  poor  people,  for  whom  we 
must  henceforth  live  far  more  than  for  ourselves." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  children  ! "  said  Mr.  Mortimer,  in 
a  voice  husky  with  emotion,  for  he  felt  that  the  realization 
of  his  brightest  dreams  was  near. 

Augusta  said  nothing ;  indeed,  her  heart  was  too  full  for 
speech,  full  of  reverent  love  for  him,  whom  she  felt  to  be 
nobler  than  even  her  ideal — full  of  generous  sympathy  by 
which  she  felt  herself  refined  and  lifted  into  a  higher  and 
more  glorious  life. 


44:0  TWO   PICTURES. 

It  was  hard  to  turn  from  such  converse  to  the  still, 
darkened  room,  where  one,  who  had  done  them  deep  wrong, 
lay,. counting  with  feeble  pulses  what  seemed  her  last  wan 
ing  minutes.  Mr.  Mortimer  and  Hugh  had  gone  to  the 
plantation,  and  the  house  seemed  preternaturally  quiet  to 
Augusta  as,  having  sent  Charity  away,  she  sat  alone  in  the 
darkened  chamber,  moving  only  to  moisten  the  parched  lips 
or  cool  the  throbbing  temples  of  the  sleeping  patient,  who, 
but  for  the  slowly  heaving  chest,  might  have. seemed  dead, 
so  motionless  had  she  lain  for  hours.  Yet,  amid  all  this 
stillness,  never  had  Augusta  felt  less  lonely,  for  sweet  mem 
ories  nestled  warm  at  her  heart,  and  bright  images  of  her 
future  life  flitted  before  and  around  her,  while,  with  some  of 
her  childish  superstition  still  lingering  in  her  mind,  she  felt 
that  angel  visitants  were  near  her,  or  rather  in  her  heart, 
enfolding  her  with  their  white  wings,  and  rejoicing  in  her 
consecration  to  a  life  so  full  of  heavenly  beauty.  Let  her 
dream  out  her  sweet  dreams,  and  call  them  not  vain  and 
idle ;  they  shall  soften  for  her  many  a  stern  reality,  lift  her 
feet  over  many  a  stone  of  stumbling,  and  so  make  her  a 
more  cheering  helpmeet  to  the  strong,  yet  sometimes,  it 
may  be,  wearied  laborer  at  her  side. 

Her  dreams  were  interrupted  by  a  whisper  from  Char 
ity,  who  had  entered  and  approached  her  noiselessly. 

"  Dey's  all  a  going,  Miss  'Gusty,  de  ole  lady  an'  all — 
dere  dey  is  now,  you  can  just  see  'em,"  and  Charity  peered 
through  the  half-closed  shutter  with  a  countenance  by  no 
means  indicative  of  sorrow. 

Augusta  needed  no  explanation  of  the  persons  meant  by 
"  they  all."  She  had  seen  Mrs.  Cullen  every  day  for  a 
week  past ;  that  lady  having  expressed  great  anxiety  respect 
ing  Mrs.  Moray,  and  having  suffered  no  day  during  that  time 
to  pass  without  sending  for  her  to  the  library,  to  inquire, 
with  much  apparent  interest,  how  her  "  poor  old  friend " 


TWO   PICTURES  441 

was.  To-day  she  had  not  seen  her,  but  she  knew  that  Hugh 
and  M/.  Reardon  had  had  an  interview,  and  she  doubted  not 
that  this  departure  was  the  result  of  it. 

To  us,  who  are  seers  by  virtue  of  our  office,  a  fuller 
revelation  has  been  made,  which  we  communicate  unre 
servedly  to  our  readers. 

The  letter  of  Charles  Moray  had  been  received  by  Mr. 
Reardon  with  anger  and  distrust. 

"  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it — it  is  a  pitiful  evasion  to 
save  the  property  which  he  had  no  right  to  hazard,  if  ft 
were  not  his — it  is  all  the  fabrication  of  that  lawyer  cousin." 

This,  varied  by  every  form  of  expression  possible  to  the 
English  language,  and  adorned  with  every  expletive  common 
to  dashing  young  gentlemen  under  the  influence  of  disap 
pointment  and  of  that  emotion  which  Horace  assures  us  ia 
a  "  brevis  furor"  was  the  staple  of  Mr.  Reardon's  conversa 
tion  for  that  day  ;  and  when,  the  next  morning,  he  heard  of 
Hugh's  arrival,  he  sent  a  note  to  him  requesting  an  inter' 
view,  which  took  place  by  Hugh's  appointment  at  11  A.  M. 

"  Pray,  Harry,  command  yourself;  a  man  who  would 
do  anything  so  desperate  as  attempt  to  palm  off  a  false  will 
upon  you,  must  be  dangerous,"  said  the  young  wife,  as  sh6 
saw  her  husband  look  at  his  watch  and  take  his  hat  from 
the  table  to  cross  the  sunny  piazza  to  the  library,  which  had 
been  appointed  for  the  place  of  meeting. 

"  Little  danger  of  anything  but  being  cheated,"  replied 
Harry  Reardon  in  a  tone  of  contempt.  "  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  "  I  must  make  some  compromise  and  surrender  part 
of  w"hat  is  justly  mine  ;  but  he  will  see  he  has  no  child  to 
deal  with ;  good-by ; "  he  touched  lightly  with  his  lips  the 
fyir  cheek  of  his  bride  and  went  to  his  appointment. 

Scarcely  half  an  hour  had  passed  when  he  returned. 
Elise  was  watching  for  him. 


412  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Well ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  he  entered,  rising  to  meet 
him. 

The  reader  is  doubtless  aware  that  there  are  many 
"  wells."  There  is  the  "  well "  congratulatory,  the  u  well " 
triumphant,  the  "  well "  surprised,  the  "  well "  despondent, 
and  the  "  well "  interrogatory.  This  last  "  well "  was  that  of 
Elise  Reardon,  who  could  not  discover  from  her  husband's 
face,  whether  the  occasion  would  admit  of  congratulation, 
triumph,  or  despondency. 

"  It  is  not  well  at  all ;  this  is  quite  another  sort  of 
Moray,  I  can  tell  you,  and  neither  to  be  coaxed  nor  driven 
from  his  purpose." 

"  Why,  I  met  him  in  Washington  once,  and  I  thought  he 
seemed  the  most  harmless,  quiet  sort  of  person  imaginable ; 
I  should  have  thought  you  could  do  anything  with  him." 

"  Quiet  enough ;  if  there  had  been  any  bluster  about 
him  I  should  have  hoped  to  gain  my  point ;  but  it  is  no  use 
to  waste  time  in  trying  to  intimidate  or  to  blind  one  of  your 
thoroughly  quiet  men,  whose  eye  tells  you  that  he  reads 
your  cards  as  plainly  as  you  do  yourself,  and  that  he  both 
can  and  will  trump  your  trick." 

"  And  do  you  believe  this  story  of  another  will  1 " 

He  hesitated  a  moment ;  then,  flinging  his  hat  on  the 
table  and  himself  into  the  lounge  from  which  Elise  had 
just  risen,  he  said,  "  Yes,  it's  a  cursed  stroke  of  fortune ; 
but  I  am  compelled  to  believe  it — at  least  I  am  sure  Hugh 
Moray  believes  it  himself." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Harry  ?  " 

"  The  first  thing  is  to  get  away  from  here.  I  have  only 
about  fifty  dollars  left,  so  you  must  see  what  you  can  do 
with  mamma." 

"  But,  Harry,  she  will  feel  dreadfully." 

"  You  must  spare  her  feelings,  my  beauty,"  and  he 
drew  her  to  his  knee  and  lavished  caresses  on  her  as  he 


TWO   PICTUKES.  4:4:3 

spoke ;  "  tell  her  there  will  be  some  delay  in  getting  pos 
session  here ;  nothing  can  be  truer  than  that,  mia  bella,  and 
that  we  must  hurry  away.  Stay,  don't  you  think  this  fever 
— it  has  put  on  a  typhoid  form,  they  say — may  make  her 
anxious  to  get  away  1  You  can  tell  her  that  I  am  very  de 
sirous  on  your  account  to  be  gone — that  is  true,  too,  my 
heart's  darling ;  and  that,  though  I  am  short  of  funds  now, 
I  will  repay  her,  if  she  will  advance  what  we  need,  as  soon 
as  we  get  to  Saratoga,  and  I  have  time  to  communicate  with 
my  banker.  Do  you  not  think  this  will  do  ? " 

How  could  the  lips  that  were  burning  with  his  kisses 
say  him  nay  !  or  the  heart  which  throbbed  in  his  close  em 
brace  distrust  him  ?  To  degrade  the  man  to  whom  she  has 
given  herself  by  a  doubt,  is  the  last  thing  a  woman  will  do  ; 
for  is  not  his  degradation  her  own  ?  Elise  Cullen  did  as  her 
husband  had  directed,  and  performed  her  task  so  skilfully  that 
her  mother,  terrified  at  the  very  name  of  typhus,  would 
scarcely  wait  to  have  their  trunks  packed,  and  declared  she 
was  quite  ready  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  whole  party,  if 
Harry  would  only  consent  to  go  at  once.  And  they  went, 
without  even  an  inquiry  after  her  whose  prosperity  they 
had  come  to  share.  Mr.  Reardon,  indeed,  proposed  that  his 
wife  should  make  a  farewell  visit  to  Miss  Moray,  and  ex 
press  their  regrets  at  leaving  their  former  hostess  so  ill ; 
but  Mrs.  Cullen  entreated  that  they  would  spare  her  nerves 
such  a  terrible  trial. 

"  Why,  that  girl  is  in  her  room  day  and  night.  Elise 
might  as  wrell  stand  by  Mrs.  Moray  herself  as  by  her.  In 
deed,  Harry,  I  am  surprised  at  your  proposing  it.  Think, 
if  anything  should  happen  to  Elise." 

Mrs.  Cullen  must  be  kept  in  good  humor  at  present,  and 
so  Mr.  Reardon  withdrew  his  proposal  as  inconsiderate,  and 
they  passed  in  silence  and  in  haste  from  the  home  they  had 
coveted. 


44:4  TWO   PICTURES. 

That  word  typhus,  spoken  by  one  of  Mrs.  Moray's  phy 
sicians,  that  evening,  when  he  joined  the  little  family  at  tea, 
threw  a  shadow  over  the  stronger  soul  of  Hugh  Moray,  and 
sent  his  eyes  to  rest  with  a  troubled  glance  on  Augusta,  be 
side  whom  he  was  seated. 

"  You  are  pale,  dearest,"  he  said,  bending  toward  her, 
and  speaking  in  a  tone  so  low  as  to  be  unheard  by  any 
other. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  a  moment,  and  a  soft  yet 
rich  color  rose  to  her  cheek.  She  felt  the  glow,  and  as  her 
eyes  fell,  answered,  "  It  was  only  for  a  moment." 

"  But  the  fear  that  caused  it  may  return  when  I  am  no 
longer  here,  and  I — oh  !  how  can  I  leave  you?  " 

Augusta  tried  in  vain  to  stead v  her  voice  as  she  asked, 
"  When  must  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  ought  to  go  to-morrow." 

"  Is  that  necessary  now  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  somewhat 
timid  accent  upon  the  "  now." 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  was  the  quick  answer.  "  Mr.  Holton  has 
been  very  indulgent  to  my  frequent  absences  of  late  ;  but  I 
must  not  leave  him  with  a  press  of  business  and  no  help : 
yes,  I  must  go ;  I  had  hoped  that  you,  and  perhaps  Mr. 
Mortimer,  would  return  with  me,  but  now  " — he  paused. 

"  Now  it  would  be  impossible  ;  1  could  not  leave  her  as 
she  is." 

"  And  yet — stay,  I  must  speak  to  the  doctor." 

He  rose,  but  Augusta's  hand,  laid  lightly  on  his  arm, 
checked  him  for  a  moment. 

"  It  can  make  no  difference  what  he  says,  Hugh  ;  I  can 
not  leave  her  to  strangers." 

He  looked  down  on  her  tenderly,  admiringly,  for  a  mo 
ment,  then,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  felt  that  the  question 
must  at  last  rest  on  his  own  decision,  said,  "  We  shall  see 
— we  shall  see,"  and  turning  to  the  doctor,  asked  for  a  few 
minutes'  private  conversation  with  him. 


TWO    PICTURES.  44:5 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  to  convince  Hugh 
that  whatever  danger  there  was  for  Augusta  had  been  already 
incurred.  That  there  had  been  some  danger  in  her  constant 
attendance,  by  day  and  by  night,  on  his  patient,  the  doctor 
admitted.  "  He  had  told  Miss  Moray  so,  some  days  ago," 
he  said,  "  but  it  had  made  no  difference.  She  ought  to  have 
some  one  near  her  who  would  make  her  rest  a  part  of  every 
night  and  go  in  the  open  air  every  day." 

"  Mr.  Mortimer  will  do  that,  if  you  tell  him  its  import 
ance,"  said  Hugh. 

"  He  may  advise,  but  I  doubt  his  being  able  to  make  her," 
said  the  old  doctor,  a  shrewd  observer ;  then  added,  with 
a  laugh,  "  not  that  she  does  not  do  all  he  wishes,  but  only 
that  she  has  the  power  of  making  him  wish  just  what  she 
pleases." 

Hugh  smiled,  and  the  smile  still  lingered  in  his  eyes,  if 
it  had  left  his  lips,  when  he  reentered  the  room  in  which 
were  Mr.  Mortimer  and  Augusta.  She  had  risen  from  her 
chair  before  Hugh  came  in,  and  he  heard  her  say  to  Mr. 
Mortimer,  as  if  in  answer  to  some  remonstrance  from  him, 
"  Indeed,  dear  sir,  I  do  not  need  sleep  ;  I  slept  so  much  last 
night." 

"  Hugh,  what  shall  we  do  with  this  dear  child,  she  will 
kill  herself;  I  wish  we  could  send  her  away." 

"  That  I  fear  we  cannot  do  now ;  but  I  will  stay  to  help 
you  take  care  of  her." 

"  Will  you,  Hugh  ?  Can  you  stay  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
turning  to  him  a  face  which  said  as  plainly  as  any  words 
could  have  done,  "  I  am  glad." 

We  know  not  exactly  how  Hugh  accomplished  it ;  but 
that  night,  and  ever  after  during  Mrs.  Moray's  illness,  Au 
gusta  went  to  her  own  room  at  midnight,  and  Hugh  and 
Charity  took  her  place  as  watchers,  and  each  day  she  was 
lured  out  and  spent  some  hours  wandering  about  under  the 


446  TWO    PICTURES. 

shadow  of  the  great  oak,  or  by  the  sea  shore,  living  over  the 
sweet  hours  of  the  past,  or  anticipating  the  future,  and  learn 
ing,  both  in  the  retrospection  and  anticipation,  better  to  un 
derstand  herself  and  him  who  won  from  her,  every  hour,  a 
more  perfect  esteem. 

It  was  not  long.  Little  more  than  a  week  had  passed 
after  Hugh's  arrival,  when  Charles  Moray  entered  again  the 
house  he  could  no  longer  call  his  own.  His  letters  Jiad  all 
been  addressed  to  Elizabethtown,  whither  he  had  promised 
Hugh  to  go,  but,  shrinking  from  the  pain  of  explanations 
to  his  aunt  and  cousins,  he  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  join 
a  party  of  young  men  going  on  a  fishing  excursion.  They 
were  gone  for  ten  days.  Charles  Moray  had  shaken  off 
much  of  his  dejection  when  he  returned.  With  his  old 
Epicurean  philosophy,  he  had  resolved  to  think  no  more  of 
what  was  disagreeable  in  the  past.  "  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  enjoy  what  is  left,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  in 
this  spirit  went  to  Elizabethtown,  and  found  four  or  five  let 
ters  awaiting  him,  each  bearing  tidings  of  his  mother's  ill 
ness  more  discouraging  than  the  last.  He  was  even  then 
obliged  to  delay  till  he  could  see  the  person  who  acted  for 
Mrs.  Moray  in  the  management  of  her  property,  that  he 
might  procure  money  from  him  for  his  travelling  expenses. 
Impatient  of  these  delays,  thinking  of  his  mother's  danger 
with  the  more  bitter  regret,  perchance,  because  of  the  cold 
ness  with  which  he  had  parted  from  her,  and  the  suspicions 
which  had  lately  darkened  his  thoughts  of  her,  he  allowed 
himself  no  rest,  by  day  or  night,  till  he  was  once  more  at 
St.  Mary's. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Augusta  was  in  the  sick 
room,  and  Hugh  had  retired,  to  obtain,  if  possible,  a  few 
hours'  sleep  before  he  should  take  her  place.  Mr.  Mortimer 
sat  alone  in  the  library,  reading.  A  step  approached  the 
door ;  a  tall  form  crossed  the  threshold.  Mr.  Mortimer 


TWO  ricTUKEs.  447 


rose,  but  his  dim  eyes  had  not  yet  told  him  who  it  was, 
when  a  cold  and  tremulous  hand  clasped  his,  and  an  agitated 
voice  exclaimed,  "  My  mother  !  " 

"  Mr.  Charles  Moray  !  My  dear  boy,  sit  down  ;  you 
are  trembling." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Mortimer,  tell  me  that  she  is  not  dead  —  that 
I  may  see  her  once  more." 

"  You  may  —  you  may  ;  though  she  is  very  low,  she  still 
lives." 

"  And  may  recover  1  Oh,  Mr.  Mortimer  !  do  you  think 
she  may  recover  ?  " 

He  was  answered  only  by  a  warm  clasp  of  the  old  man's 
trembling  hands  ;  he  knew  well  what  that  silence  meant, 
and  dropping  on  the  chair  beside  him,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  deep  sobs  heaved  his  bosom.  Mr.  Mor 
timer  wiped  the  tears  from  his  own  eyes,  as  he  stood  look 
ing  down  upon  him.  At  length  the  sobs  ceased,  and  laying 
his  hand  on  his  bowed  head,  Mr.  Mortimer  said,  "  Come, 
my  son,  I  will  show  you  to  her  room." 

Their  sudden  entrance  into  the  darkened  room,  hushed 
as  it  was,  startled  Augusta,  who,  having  brought  a  light 
stronger  than  the  shadowy  night  lamp  that  usually  burned 
there,  to  the  side  of  the  sickbed,  was  bending  over  it,  en 
deavoring  to  rouse  Mrs.  Moray  sufficiently  to  swallow  the 
strong  stimulant,  which  was  now  administered  every  half 
hour  by  the  physician's  order.  Rising  suddenly  and  turn 
ing  as  she  heard  movements  behind  her,  the.  light  flashed 
upon  the  ghastly  face  and  sunken  eyes  of  the  dying  woman 
just  as  Charles  Moray  took  his  place  beside  her.  The  long- 
closed  eyes  opened  suddenly,  the  long-silent  lips  stirred,  and 
a  feeble  voice  uttered,  "  My  son  !  Charles  !  " 

It  was  the  last  word,  the  last  thought  ;  the  one  pure 
affection  of  her  life  had  outlived  all  her  petty  ambitions  —  all 
her  selfish  aims.  The  voice  of  prayer  ascended  from  beside 


448  TWO   PICTURES. 

her,  but  it  bore  no  conscious  appeal  from  her  faintly  throb 
bing  heart.  The  agonized  cry  of  Charles,  "  Mother  !  speak 
to  me  !  forgive  me  !  "  fell  on  ears  seemingly  as  insensible  as 
if  death  had  already  sealed  them.  A  few  hours  of  such  un 
conscious  sleep,  a  few  slow,  deep-drawn  sighs,  and  then,  that 
stillness  which  we  need  no  voice  to  tell  us  is  death. 

Charles  Moray's  nature,  amid  all  its  levity,  did  not  want 
tenderness,  and  he  stood  with  all  the  abandonment  of  a  first 
great  bereavement  beside  his  mother's  grave — remorseful 
for  every  unloving  thought — mindful  only  of  her  cherishing 
affection.  She  was  laid  to  rest  with  the  reverence  due  to 
that  which  had  been  the  habitation  of  an  immortal  soul, 
while  those  whom  she  had  striven  most  to  injure,  if  they 
could  not  wholly  forget  the  past,  remembered  it  only  to 
pity,  and,  where  it  was  possible,  to  excuse.  We  say  "  had 
striven  to  injure  them,"  for,  in  truth,  they  had  received  no 
injury,  though  they  had  suffered  some  sorrow.  Sorrow  had 
but  given  greater  consistency,  a  mellower  ripeness,  to  the 
noble  qualities  of  Hugh  Moray.  Augusta  had,  indeed, 
grown,  or  seemed  for  a  time  to  grow,  colder  and  haughtier 
under  its  influence  ;  but  this  evil  was  from  within — not  sor 
row,  but  pride  was  its  source — pride,  the  demon  of  her  life. 
Sorrow  had  not  withdrawn  its  shadow  from  her  path,  when 
Christian  love  first  nestled  in  her  heart,  yet  the  coldness  and 
misanthropy  had  vanished.  She  did  not,  perhaps,  quite 
clearly  perceive  this  yet,  but  she  saw  enough  to  make  her 
more  forgiving  to  others  than  to  herself — enough  to  make 
her  recognize  the  great  principle  that  our  true  well-being 
can  be  permanently  affected  only  through  our  own  action ; 
that  it  is  being,  not  having,  which  makes  our  life.  Perhaps 
just  conclusions  were  scarcely  to  be  expected  from  her  in 
the  days  which  immediately  succeeded  Mrs.  Moray's  death. 

While  there  had  been  anything  to  do  for  Mrs.  Moray, 
she  had  shown — she  had  felt — no  fatigue ;  but  this  excite- 


TWO   PICTURES.  449 

ment  to  action  removed,  she  sank  down  in  inexpressible 
weariness,  and  her  languid  movements  and  pale  face  excited 
the  keenest  solicitude  in  Hugh  and  Mr.  Mortimer.  For 
herself,  she  was  conscious  only  of  a  quietude  which  made 
the  thought  of  change  the  most  dreaded  of  all  things. 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  I  am  resting  so  here !  "  was  her  answer  to 
his  first  suggestion  that  it  would  be  well  that  she  should  go 
immediately  to  Elizabethtown,  where  his  mother  and  sisters 
were  expecting  her,  and  whither  he  hoped  to  induce  Mr. 
Mortimer  to  go  with  her. 

Resting,  indeed,  she  was,  as  she  had  never  rested  before ; 
the  wandering  bird  had  found  its  nest.  Where  was  her 
pride,  her  independence  now  ?  All  exchanged  for  the  sweet 
ness  of  entire  trust  in  the  large  heart,  the  clear  judgment, 
the  firm  will  of  him  whom  she  had  chosen  as  her  earthly 
guide.  She  had  exercised  wisely  her  woman's  right  of 
choice,  and  the  result  was  this  ineffable  peace.  What  could 
the  poor,  vain  ranters  about  woman's  independence  have 
given  her  in  exchange  for  it  ?  Ah !  they  know  not  how 
sweet  it  is  to  "  obey,"  when  obedience  has  been  preceded  by 
"  love  and  honor."  Only  see  that  he  whose  rule  you  accept 
bear  the  lineaments  of  the  Divine  Master,  and  be  assured 
your  highest  happiness  and  truest  dignity  in  this,  as  in  every 
relation,  will  be  found  in  obedience  to  God's  arrangements. 
So  felt  Augusta  Moray,  and  though  she  would  gladly  have 
lingered  in  that  sweet  quietude,  even  as  the  thirsty  traveller 
in  the  desert  pauses  beside  the  green  oasis  with  its  gushing 
wells — she  yielded  to  Hugh's  wishes,  and  began,  or  rather 
suffered  Charity  to  begin,  the  preparations  for  their  depart 
ure.  She  did  not  know  then  how  much  Hugh  shared  her 
desire  to  remain  undisturbed  in  that  sweet  home,  which  was 
so  dear  to  them  both,  associated,  as  it  was,  with  their  mem 
ories  of  the  past  and  their  hopes  of  the  future.  But  the 
voice  of  duty,  ever  powerful  with  him,  called  him  away,  and 


450  TWO   PICTURES. 

the  assurance  of  the  physician,  whom  he  consulted,  that 
change  of  scene  and  air  would  be  Augusta's  best  restoratives, 
left  him  no  wish  to  disobey,  and  in  one  week  after  the  last 
duties  had  been  performed  for  Mrs.  Moray  which  human 
kindness  could  perform,  the  house  at  St.  Mary's  was  again 
silent  and  deserted.  The  parsonage,  too,  was  closed,  for 
Mr.  Mortimer  could  not  resist  Augusta's  entreaties  that  he 
would  go  with  her. 

"  You  must  come  with  us  and  grow  strong  this  summer, 
dear  sir,  or  you  will  never  be  able  to  do  half  that  Hugh  is 
planning  for  you  to  do  the  next  winter  ;  besides,  how  can  I 
leave  you  t  " 

And  Mr.  Mortimer's  heart  grew  warm  with  the  thought 
that  there  was  yet  work  for  him  to  do  for  his  Master  in 
heaven,  and  that  there  was  one  on  earth  who  could  not  leave 
him.  It  was  an  evening  glow,  bright  and  beautiful. 

.  As  for  Charity,  she  rose  in  her  own  estimation,  and  that 
of  her  acquaintances,  many  degrees  above  her  ordinary 
height,  when  she  was  known  to  be  about  to  go  to  that  dis 
tant  "  North,"  of  which  they  had  heard  so  much,  with  "  Miss 
'Gusty  and  Mr.  Hugh  and  their  own  young  master,"  as  they 
continued  to  call  Charles  Moray,  notwithstanding  the  myste 
rious  innuendoes  with  which  Charity  had  sought  to  enlighten 
their  ignorance.  Her  own  information  was  not  sufficiently 
exact  to  enable  her  "  to  tell  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale,"  but 
she  had,  almost  of  necessity,  heard  some  things,  and  she  had 
guessed  a  great  deal  more ;  so  that,  through  her,  the  idea 
became  very  prevalent  on  the  plantation  that  some  change 
was  awaiting  them,  which  Charity  considered  as  greatly  for 
their  benefit.  This  idea  was  strengthened  by  Mr.  Morti 
mer's  farewell  words  to  them,  in  which  he  told  them  that  he 
was  parting  from  them  only  for  a  little  while,  and  that  he 
hoped,  when  he  came  back,  to  be  able,  through  the  kindness 
of  their  good  master,  to  do  a  great  deal  more  for  them  than 


TWO   PICTURES.  451 

he  had  ever  yet  done.  For  Charles  Moray's  sake,  each  one 
felt  indisposed  to  speak  of  the  new  state  of  affairs  at  present. 
To  the  manager  of  the  estate,  however,  who  came  to  him  for 
orders,  Charles  Moray  said,  "  You  must  go  to  Mr.  Hugh 
Moray  ;  he  is  master  here  now." 

"  Why,  you  don't  tell  me  so,"  exclaimed  the  man  in  his 
surprise  ;  "  you've  sold  out  to  Mr.  Hugh  ?  " 

Hugh  was  present  at  this  interview,  and  the  glance  which 
Charles  Moray  cast  upon  him,  seemed  to  ask  help  in  the  ex 
planation  which  he  was  called  upon  to  give. 

"  Before  we  answer  your  question,  Mr.  Carter,  I  must 
claim  your  congratulations  on  my  approaching  marriage 
with  Miss  Augusta  Moray  ;  it  was  her  uncle's  wish  that  on 
our  marriage  we  should  reside  here." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Carter  with  a  puzzled  look, 
feeling  that  his  question  had  not  been  answered  ;  yet  at  the 
next  moment  subsiding  into  satisfaction  with  an  arrange 
ment  which  he  accepted  as  natural  and  just,  he  added,  "  I'm 
very  glad  to  hear  it,  sir,  I'm  sure ;  but  I  hope  we  sha'n't 
lose  Mr.  Charles — we  all  like  Mr.  Charles,  sir." 

"  To  be  sure  you  do,"  said  Hugh,  laying  his  hand  affec, 
tionately  on  the  shoulder  of  his  cousin,  "  everybody  likes 
Mr.  Charles  ;  I  wish  you  may  like  me  half  so  well." 

Charles  clasped,  with  grateful  warmth,  the  hand  that 
rested  on  his  shoulder. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Carter,"  continued  Hugh,  "  as  to  these 
orders,  I  think  I  had  better  ride  over  and  see  you  in  the 
morning." 

And  Mr.  Carter  departed  with  vague  impressions  which 
grew  into  certainties  as  he  thought,  and  were,  according  to 
a  very  common  process,  reported  as  information  received 
from  the  young  gentlemen  themselves,  that  Mr.  Moray  had 
divided  his  property  between  his  young  relatives  with  the 
request  that  his  niece  should  marry  one  of  them,  and  that 


452  TWO   PICTUEES. 

the  one  she  married  should  have  St.  Mary's.  It  was  an 
understanding  which  shielded  the  reputation  of  the  dead  and 
the  feelings  of  the  living,  and  as  Hugh  Moray  was  not  one 
of  whom  many  men  would  be  disposed  to  ask  impertinent 
questions,  it  was  an  understanding  not  likely  to  be  dis 
turbed.  Once  more  Augusta  Moray  saw  her  home  fade  into 
dim  distance,  but  with  feelings  far  different  from  the  pas 
sionate  sorrow  of  her  childhood.  It  was  dear  to  her  as  ever ; 
ay,  dearer,  for  not  only  was  it  connected  with  all  she  valued 
in  the  past,  but  it  was  to  be  the  theatre  of  her  life-work. 

"  Our  home,"  Hugh  bent  down  and  murmured  as  he 
watched  her  last  lingering  looks.  And  how  much  was  com 
pressed  in  that  little  "  our."  How  her  heart  swelled  be 
neath  the  sound  !  The  gladness  of  the  present — the  hopes 
of  the  future  were  all  there. 

To  one  of  the  party,  there  was  relief  in  leaving  that  lone 
island.  The  heavy  gloom,  which  had  rested  of  late  on 
Charles  Moray's  brow,  grew  perceptibly  lighter  as  the  dis 
tance  between  him  and  St.  Mary's  increased.  There  he 
could  not  forget  the  wrong  and  the  sorrow  which  it  was  use 
less  torture  to  his  light  spirit  to  retain. 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  abroad  for  two  or  three  years,"  he 
said  to  Hugh. 

"  Better  go  to  work,"  was  Hugh's  answer.  "  Believe 
me,  Charlie,  any  happiness  worth  having,  must  come  from 
what  we  are  and  what  we  do." 

"  Go  to  work  ! "  and  Charles  Moray  laughed  the  light 
laugh  of  his  boyish  days,  "  a  strange  receipt  for  happiness  ! 
I  fear  you  will  be  very  unhappy  the  rest  of  your  life — a 
Southern  planter  with  nothing  to  do;  poor  II ugh! "and 
again  came  the  ready  laugh. 

"  Nothing  to  do  !  "  repeated  Hugh. 

"  Why,  what  will  you  do  ?  Carter  will  do  all  the  busi 
ness." 


TWO    PICTURES.  453 

"  Come  and  see  what  I  shall  do." 

"  Perhaps  I  will,  ten  years  hence." 

Words  spoken  in  thoughtlessness,  to  be  strangely  ful 
filled. 

The  motherly  and  sisterly  love,  which  awaited  Augusta 
at  Elizabethtown,  seemed  to  give  a  new  sanction  to  her  joy. 
It  was  a  joy  which  lay  too  deep  in  her  heart  for  smiles  or 
words — a  joy  which  made  her  humble  toward  God  and 
tender  toward  her  fellow  creatures,  by  its  contrast  with 
what  she  felt  she  had  deserved  by  her  pride  and  her  distrust. 
She  had  been  in  Elizabethtown  about  a  fortnight  when  Lily 
came  one  morning  early  to  Esther's  room,  and  closing  the 
door  carefully  behind  her,  said,  "  Esther,  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  a  question ;  if  you  think  it  wrong,  you  will  not  answer  it." 

"  Certainly  not,  Lily." 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  that  Augusta  really  loves 
Hugh,  as  she  ought  to  do ;  I  mean,  if  you  think  she  is  so 
very  happy  ? " 

"  If  Augusta  loves  Hugh  ?  if  she  is  happy  ? "  repeated 
Esther  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  she  is  so  serious  ;  I  think  she  laughs  less  at  the 
little  pleasantries  that  pass  before  her  than  she  did  when  she 
was  here  before ;  and  it  seems  to  me  any  one  that  Hugh 
loves,  ought  to  be  so  very,  very  glad." 

"  And  do  you  think,  dear  Lily,  that  the  gladdest  heart 
makes  the  merriest  face  ?  Can  you  not  conceive  of  a  happi 
ness  that  shall  so  fill  the  heart  that  the  little  pleasantries 
which  excite  the  merriment  of  others,  shall  .be  unobserved 
altogether,  or  observed  only  as  intrusive  impertinencies  ?  " 
J  ust  here,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  ;  and  on  its  being 
opened,  Augusta  presented  herself.  Lily  looked  conscious, 
and  would  have  stolen  away,  but  Esther  caught  her  as  she 
passed,  and  said,  "  Stay,  Lily  !  Augusta,  Lily  is  afraid  you 
cannot  be  happy  ;  she  says  you  are  so  grave." 


454  TWO   PICTURES. 

"  Grave  !  Not  happy  !  "  exclaimed  Augusta,  while  the 
flush  of  a  surprise,  which  was  almost  indignant,  rose  to  her 
brow.  "  Hugh's  promised  wife,  and  not  happy !  Oh, 
Lily  ! " 

"  Pray,  forgive  me  ! "  pleaded  Lily,  as  she  rested  her 
head  on  Augusta's  shoulder,  ready  to  laugh  or  to  cry  at 
the  next  word,  "  I  am  such  a  little  ignoramus — I  don't  know 
about  such  things ;  I  shall  learn  better  by  and  by,  I  hope." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  said  Augusta,  as  she  kissed  her 
cheek. 

Her  tone  seemed  to  Lily  to  express  that  such  ignorance 
was  scarcely  pardonable,  and  she  stole  away  like  a  culprit ; 
and  again  and  again,  through  the  day,  her  thoughts  reverted 
to  the  subject,  and  each  time  with  a  little  protest  on  the  judg 
ment  of  herself.  In  all  doubtful  cases  Hugh  was  her  ulti 
mate  appeal  ;  and,  on  his  return  from  the  city  that  evening, 
she  found  or  made  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  him  alone, 
and,  detailing  the  whole  scene,  words  and  looks,  she  wished  to 
know  if  he  thought  she  "  was  so  very  wrong."  Hugh  an 
swered  only  with  laughter  and  kisses,  till  Lily  grew  quite 
indignant,  and  declared  he  treated  her  "  like  a  child." 

"  Like  just  what  you  are  then,  Lily,  my  dear  child- 
sister,"  said  Hugh,  holding  her  fast,  "  I  wish  I  could  keep 
you  so ;  but  it  cannot  be :  you  must  pass  the  portal  of 
womanhood,  and  then  you  will  understand.  In  the  mean 
time  you  need  not  tell  Augusta  that  I  have  heard  this,"  he 
added,  as  he  released  her. 

"  1  dare  say  you  will  tell  her  yourself,"  said  Lily,  with  a 
little  pout  in  her  voice,  and  that  conjecture  was  so  true  as  to 
show  that  she  was  not  entirely  ignorant  of  human  nature. 

Hugh  found  his  kind  friend,  Mr.  Holton,  laboring  under 
a  pressure  of  business,  arid  he  devoted  all  his  energies  to  him 
and  his  cases,  till  another  was  found  to  take  the  place  which 
he  could  no  longer  fill. 


TWO  ricTUKES.  455 

"  I  am  sorry  to  bid  you  farewell,  Mr.  Moray,"  said  Mr. 
Ilolton,  at  parting,  "  sorry  for  my  own  sake,  and,  if  you 
will  pardon  me  for  saying  so,  for  yours.  The  life  of  a 
Southern  planter  seems  to  me  to  offer  no  sphere  for  talents 
such  as  you  possess,  and  with  your  education  and  past  asso 
ciations,  I  should  think  there  must  be  much  in  it  which  you 
would  find  distasteful." 

"  You  are  so  far  right,  Mr.  Hoi  ton,  that  it  is  certainly 
not  the  life  of  my  own  choice ;  but  I  accept  it  without  re 
luctance,  convinced  that  if  its  responsibilities  be  fulfilled,  it 
will  accomplish  life's  highest  ends,  the  glory  of  God  and  the 
good  of  man." 

"  I  have  not  looked  upon  it  so — but,  perhaps,  you  are 
right,"  said  his  friend,  after  a  pause,  "  the  world  does  not 
see  this,  however ;  you  will  have  the  best  spirits  in  every 
land  against  you." 

"  The  best !  "  exclaimed  Hugh,  "  I  think  not ;  many 
good  men,  certainly — but,  some,  I  will  hope,  will  rise  above 
even  amiable  prejudices,  and  see  the  true  position  of  those 
to  whom  this  hard  service  has  been  appointed." 

Mr.  Ilolton  shook  his  head.  Hugh  lifted  his  higher, 
and  a  loftier  expression  glowed  in  his  face,  as  he  said, 
earnestly,  "  Be  it  so  ;  human  sympathy  is  dear,  but  it  is  not 
necessary." 

It  was  in  the  last  week  of  September  that  Hugh  and 
Augusta  were  married.  The  ceremony  was  performed  by 
Mr.  Mortimer  in  that  simple  home  in  Elizabethtown,  which 
she  had  herself  described  in  the  memorial  of  her  early  life. 
No  gay  company  disturbed  with  sounds  of  revelry  the  echoes 
on  which  the  tones  of  the  loved  and  honored  dead  seemed 
still  to  linger.  None,  except  Augusta  herself,  and  Lily, 
who  was  her  bridesmaid,  laid  aside,  even  for  that  evening, 
the  dress  which  was  their  last  visible  link  with  that  tenderly 
cherished  memory.  So  there  have  been  many  gayer,  but, 


456  TWO   PICTURES. 

•we  will  venture  to  say,  never  a  happier  bridal.  Even 
Charles  Moray,  the  only  groomsman,  was  touched  by  the 
solemn  tenderness  of  Mr.  Mortimer's  tremulous  tones  as  he 
uttered  the  words  which  bound  their  lives  together,  to  be 
parted  only  by  death ;  and,  as  Mrs.  Moray,  having  first 
folded  her  new  daughter  to  her  heart,  turned  to  Hugh's  em 
brace,  and  he  heard  the  murmured  words,  "  The  blessing  of 
the  mother  whose  life  you  have  crowned  with  joy,  be  upon 
you,  Hugh ! "  the  white  gravestone  at  St.  Mary's  rose 
before  him,  around  which  his  own  life  seemed  to  stretch  like 
a  desert  waste.  Sweet  might  have  been  the  uses  of  such 
wholesome  pain,  but  his  Epicurean  nature  quickly  banished 
the  vision. 

The  only  guests  on  this  occasion  were  Judge  Mellen,  his 
daughter,  and  Miss  Drayton.  The  bridal  present  Annie 
Mellen  made  to  Augusta,  was  the  set  of  pearls  which  Miss 
Drayton  had  purchased  from  her  in  her  hour  of  need,  and 
which  the  tender-hearted  Annie  could  never  be  induced  to 
wear. 

The  next  week,  Charles  Moray  fulfilled  his  design  of 
going  abroad.  His  property  in  Elizabeth  town  had  lately 
risen  in  value,  so  that  it  yielded  him  about  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  per  annum.  Mrs.  Moray,  distrustful,  as  it  seemed, 
of  her  son's  prudence,  had  made  such  arrangements  that 
Charles  could  only  command  the  income.  To  the  questions 
of  his  friends  respecting  the  time  of  his  return,  he  answered, 
"  Probably,  never.  What  is  there  to  bring  me  back  1  I 
have  no  home  and  no  occupation." 

"  You  can  have  both  whenever  you  please,"  said  Hugh, 
with  a  smile,  "  and  as  for  occupation,  come  and  help  us  at 
St.  Mary's." 

"  Help  you  do  nothing  ! "  was  the  mocking  reply. 

And  here  we  might  leave  those  whom  we  have  accom 
panied  so  far  on  their  life-journey,  having  fulfilled,  as  we 


TWO   PICTURES.  457 

believe,  our  pledge  to  the  reader,  and  proved  that  to  every 
picture  on  which  we  look,  whether  bright  or  dark,  there  is 
another  side ;  that  outward  prosperity  often  carries  storm 
and  gloom  in  its  bosom,  while  the  clouds  of  sorrow  as  often 
show  the  "  silver  lining  "  of  a  peace  which  passeth  under 
standing.  Between  the  probable  destinies  of  the  two  young 
Morays  when  they  were  first  introduced  to  the  reader,  few, 
perhaps,  would  have  chosen  his  who  seemed  doomed  to  work 
his  toilsome  way  up  the  hill  of  life,  unaided  even  by  those 
natural  gifts  which  are  as  a  letter  of  credit,  insuring  us  a 
friendly  reception  everywhere.  But  let  us  look  upon  the 
pictures  of  those  two  lives  from  the  point  of  view  at  which 
we  now  stand,  and  we  do  not  ask  you,  intelligent  reader, 
whose  present  or  whose  future  would  you  choose,  but  whose 
past  ?  Shall  it  be  Charles  Moray's  with  its  frivolous  gaie 
ties  and  luxurious  self-indulgence,  enervating  and  satiating 
without  satisfying  the  soul ;  or,  shall  it  be  Hugh's  with  its 
privations  and  its  toils — a  sombre  picture,  but  with  a  glory 
around  it — the  glory  of  a  soul  which  has  risen  to  the  height 
of  its  being  and  treads  down  resolutely  all  which  is  only 
earthly  and  sensual  ? 

Here,  we  say,  we  might  leave  them ;  but  there  is  one 
picture  to  a  new  aspect  of  which  we  would  especially  ask 
your  attention.  We  have  shown  you  wealth  held  for  ambi 
tious  purposes,  to  build  up  a  name  and  family  influence,  and 
wealth  held  for  purposes  of  self-indulgence ;  we  have  yet  to 
show  it  held  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  man. 

This,  we  think,  will  be  done  most  pleasantly  by  culling 
a  few  leaves  from  the  journal  of  Augusta  Moray,  from  which 
earlier  passages  of  this  family  history  were  extracted.  The 
first  extract  is  dated  a  few  days  after  her  arrival  at 
St.  Mary's. 


"A  settled  virtue 

Makes  itself  a  judge,  and,  satisfied  within, 
Smiles  at  that  common  enemy,  the  world."— DKYDEW. 

October  23(7. — This  little  book  has  not  been  unclasped 
for  many  a  day.  It  was  my  solace,  my  friend,  when  my 
heart  was  sinking  under  a  weight  of  woe,  which  I  was  too 
proud  and  too  distrustful  to  confide  to  any  being,  human  or 
divine.  Oh !  that  terrible  loneliness  of  soul.  I  stand 
appalled  before  its  very  memory — it  chills  me. 

I  am  chill  no  longer — Hugh  has  just  come  in  with  Mr. 
Mortimer.  I  hear  his  voice  as  he  is  passing  to  the  library. 
He  will  soon  seek  me,  if  I  go  not  to  them  ;  but  I  must  say 
to  my  little  book  how  his  very  voice  fills  my  heart  with  the 
sweet,  warm  consciousness  of  human  love,  and  how,  through 
this,  I  feel  and  adore  the  glory  of  the  Divine  goodness.  He 
is  coming. 

October  24M. — I  had  no  time  to  write  yesterday  after 
Hugh  left  me.  To-day  I  have  been  with  him  to  the  planta 
tion  for  the  first  time  since  my  return.  Both  the  delay  and 
the  visit  were  of  his  planning,  and  had  their  reason.  He 
drove  me  in  a  little  low  pony- carriage,  which  he  purchased 
for  me  in  New  York.  Our  first  halt  was  beneath  the  old 


TWO   PICTUKES.  459 

oaks,  whose  boughs  form  an  arch  above  my  uncle's  grave. 
There,  at  the  head  of  the  grave,  had  been  reared,  on  a  broad 
pedestal,  a  massive  granite  column,  on  which  is  inscribed : 

HERE     REST    THE     MORTAL     REMAINS 
OF 

HUGH    MORAY: 

A  just  man,  a  generous  friend,  a  kind  master;  his  life  was  cheered 
by  the  grateful  affection  of  those  who  owed  all  worldly  good  to  his  lib 
erality,  and  his  last  hours  were  made  bright  by  the  hope  of  a  glorious 
immortality. 

A  Senator  from  Georgia  to  the  Congress  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  he  died  in  Washington,  April  10th,  18 — ,  aged  61. 

In  silent  sadness  we  stood  beside  this  place  of  rest — and 
yet  not  all  sadness ;  it  was  consoling  to  feel  that  in  consum 
mating  our  own  happiness,  we  had  fulfilled  his  last  and 
strongest  earthly  wish.  It  seemed,  as  we  stood  together 
there,  that  a  new  blessing  had  been  breathed  upon  our 
union.  Tears,  not  altogether  of  sorrow,  were  on  my 
cheeks,  as  Hugh  drew  me  away.  "  I  promised  to  love  you 
for  him  and  for  myself  too,"  he  said,  as  he  kissed  them 
away. 

We  went  on  toward  the  plantation,  passed  beyond  it, 
and  stopped  at  a  little  cove  or  bay,  where  the  water  lay  as 
calm  as  if  it  had  been  a  mountain  lake  instead  of  a  part  of 
that  great  sea  which  roared  and  dashed  on  the  beach  not 
much  more  than  a  mile  away.  From  the  water  the  land 
stretched  away  for  nearly  half  a  mile  in  a  flowery  savanna, 
broken  only  here  and  there  by  clumps  of  oaks.  There  was 
no  road  in  this  direction,  but  over  the  level  surface  of  the 
savanna,  the  ponies  drew  the  little  carriage  without  a  jolt. 
A  new  feature  had  been  added  to  the  scene  since  I  looked 
upon  it  last.  Two  small,  inexpensive,  yet  neat  cottages  had 


460  TWO   PICTURES. 

been  built.  They  were  only  one  story  in  height,  and  con 
tained  four  small  rooms,  so  arranged  as  to  be  well  aired. 
Each  cottage  had  a  piazza,  around  which  ran  a  bench,  fastened 
to  the  floor.  In  an  enclosed  space,  in  the  rear  of  each,  vege 
tables  and  a  few  common  flowers  were  already  growing, 
while  two  or  three  hens  and  a  pair  of  turkeys,  clucking  in 
two  little  poultry-yards,  gave  the  animation  of  life  to  the 
scene.  Within,  the  cottages  were  furnished  very  plainly, 
but  with  neatness.  A  table  with  folding  leaves,  a  few  chairs, 
and  a  cupboard  with  glazed  doors,  made  of  the  red  wood  of  the 
wild  cherry,  formed  the  furniture  of  the  sitting  room.  The 
sleeping  rooms  had  each  a  bedstead  and  bureau  of  the  same 
wood.  On  the  bedsteads,  which  were  corded,  lay,  first,  a 
thoroughly  cured  skin,  with  the  glossy  hair  unshorn,  and 
above  that,  a  mattress  made  of  coarse  osnaburg,  and  stuffed 
with  moss  from  our  own  trees. 

Dear  Hugh  !  I  do  not  believe  he  ever  enjoyed  winning 
a  case  as  he  did  showing  me  there,  in  those  pretty  white 
cottages,  so  neat  and  comfortable  within  and  without,  the 
embodiment  of  one  of  our  earliest  plans  for  the  improve 
ment  of  those  committed  to  our  care.  Something  was  yet 
to  be  done  before  the  fulfilment  of  our  dream  was  complete. 
We  had  not  to  wait  long  for  the  cart,  which  was  following 
us  with  two  large  boxes,  into  which  Sambo's  inquisitive  eyes 
longed  to  peep  ;  but  we  well  knew  that  if  they  had  done  so 
the  little  surprise  we  had  planned  for  our  good  Cato  and 
Gib  would  have  been  no  surprise  at  all,  so  Master  Sambo, 
notwithstanding  all  his  offers  of  service,  was  forced  to  drive 
away  before  we  opened  them.  What  a  pleasure  it  was  to 
us  to  draw  out  the  few  plates  and  dishes  and  cups  and  sau 
cers,  and  the  bright  tin  coffee-pot,  which  we  know  will  be 
the  most  valued  of  all,  and  arrange  them  on  the  shelves  of 
the  cupboard — to  lay  the  cotton  sheets  and  tablecloths,  and 
the  osnaburg  towels,  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  each  bureau, 


TWO   PICTURES.  4C1 

and  to  spread  a  warm  blanket  and  quilt  upon  each  bed.  I 
looked  with  a  warm,  glad  heart  upon  all ;  but  there  came 
suddenly  a  little  cloud  over  the  brightness  of  my  thoughts. 

"  Hugh  !  if  they  should  disappoint  us  after  all,  and  be 
lazy  and  slovenly,  as  that  cross  Mrs.  Williams  predicted  the 
other  day." 

"  Then  we  must  try  to  be  patient  with  them,  remember- 
ing  how  often  we  have  disappointed  our  Master  in  heaven, 
and  thwarted  His  plans  for  us." 

"  Hugh,  do  you  know,  sometimes  I  think — but  you  know 
better,  so  I  will  not  say  it." 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  said  Hugh,  as  he  drew  me  to  him  and 
held  me  fast ;  "  do  you  not  know  your  very  thoughts  belong 
to  me  noAV,  and  that  it  is  a  robbery  to  keep  one  back  ?  so 
now  for  the  thought." 

"  It  was  only  that  sometimes  it  had  occurred  to  me  that 
at  last  it  might  have  been  easier  just  to  give  these  people 
their  freedom,  send  them  to  Africa,  and  live  upon  your  law 
business." 

u  Easier !  yes,  a  thousand  times  easier,  and  ten  thou 
sand  times  more  noble  in  the  world's  eyes;  but  we  are 
living,  I  hope,  not  for  ease,  not  for  the  world's  praise.  I  told 
you,  my  wife," — how  sweet  that  name  is  on  Hugh's  lips ! — 
"  I  told  you  that  this  would  be  a  heavy  burden ;  but  be  not 
afraid,  darling ;  He  who  lays  on  us  the  burden  will  give  the 
strength." 

And  so  to-morrow  Cato,  who  was  my  father's  playfellow 
in  his  boyhood,  and  Gib,  my  uncle's  faithful  attendant,  both 
religiously  conscientious  men,  are  to  take  possession  of  these 
houses,  the  first  of  our  colony  of  "  Good  Behavior."  To 
become  a  member  of  this  colony  will,  we  hope,  prove  an  in 
centive  to  all  our  people,  not  only  to  be  honest  and  good, 
but  to  acquire  habits  of  neatness  and  carefulness.  The 
members  of  this  colony  will  have  land  given  them  for  culti- 


4G2  TWO   PICTUKES. 

ration,  where  they  will  work  at  their  own  free  will,  without 
any  surveillance.  They  are  to  have  their  seed  given  them, 
and  to  draw  their  provisions  as  the  others  do,  for  the  first 
year.  They  will  afterward  be  expected  to  provide  these  for 
themselves,  as  well  as  to  pay  a  portion  of  what  they  make 
for  ground  rent.  Should  unforeseen  disasters  occur,  they 
will  be  taken  care  of;  but  should  they  fail  entirely  through 
indolence  or  carelessness,  the  punishment  will  be  the  forfei 
ture  of  their  position,  and  a  return  to  their  old  work  and 
their  old  homes.  I  hope  this  will  never  be — it  will  grieve 
Hugh  so  much.  It  has  been  Hugh's  desire  to  make  his 
plans  so  rational  and  unromantic  as  to  insure  their  prac 
ticability.  The  first  step  may  not  raise  them  very  high,  he 
says,  but  if  it  be  planted  surely,  it  will  give  us  vantage 
ground  for  the  next.  We  hope  to  build  another  cottage  be 
fore  the  end  of  the  year,  perhaps  two,  by  giving  up  the  or 
gan  which  Hugh  contemplated  purchasing  for  the  library. 

This  was  not  the  only  pleasure  of  yesterday  that  1  have,  to 
record.  We  stopped  at  the  church,  where  dear  Mr.  Morti 
mer  met  us  and  rejoiced  with  us  over  its  improved  appear 
ance.  It  has  been  thoroughly  cleaned  and  painted  inside 
and  out,  and  the  old  pulpit  has  been  taken  out  and  a  more 
comfortable  one  arranged  for  our  dear  pastor  and  friend.  A 
little  way  from  the  church,  under  a  clump  of  oaks,  is  another 
building,  which  we  call  the  school,  and  our  people  call  the 
prayers-house.  It  will  serve  for  both.  There  they  will 
assemble  for  evening  prayer,  sometimes  with  Mr.  Morti 
mer,  sometimes  with  Hugh  himself;  and  there  I  hope  to 
teach  them  to  read  God's  holy  word,  and  to  awaken  their 
minds  to  observation  of  much  in  His  works  which  is  yet 
hidden  from  them.  What  a  new  value  does  my  life  seem 
every  day  to  acquire !  Grant,  Heavenly  Father,  that  I  may 
never  forget  the  Giver  in  His  gifts ! 

Five  years  later  we  have  the  following  entry : 


TWO    PICTURES.  463 

"  November  Wtk,  18 — . — How  pleasant  it  is  to  come 
home !  I  think,  if  it  had  not  been  to  show  my  treasures — 
my  little  Hugh  and  baby  James — to  their  grandmamma, 
•who  loves  them  so  tenderly,  I  should  have  tried  to  let  Hugh 
go  without  me — arid  yet,  to  speak  truth,  I  fear  the  trial 
would  have  been  vain.  They  have  not  been  idle  here  since 
we  left  them.  Two  more  cottages  have  been  built,  and 
twenty  families  now  compose  our  colony.  Their  crops  have 
been  injured  by  the  heavy  rains,  and  they  will  need  help 
the  next  year,  but  everything  around  them  looks  neat  and 
comfortable,  and  well  cared  for ;  and  Mr.  Mortimer  has 
been  quite  satisfied  with  the  attendance  on  the  school,  to 
which,  he  says,  Sarah  Carter  was  very  attentive  while  I  was 
absent.  Hugh  thinks  my  little  gentlemen  require  so  much 
of  my  time  that  I  had  better  leave  it  in  her  hands,  and  give 
her  a  small  salary,  but  I  cannot  consent  to  this  yet ;  a  year 
or  two  hence,  perhaps,  it  may  be  necessary.  Poor  Joe  !  I 
was  very  sorry  when  we  were  obliged  to  send  him  back 
from  the  colony  to  the  plantation,  but  Hugh  was  right. 
When  was  he  otherwise?  With  the  encouragement  of  good 
Mr.  Mortimer,  Joe  has  regained  his  lost  ground,  and  to 
morrow  he  will  come  back  to  the  colony,  while  the  example, 
I  am  sure,  has  done  good  to  the  others." 

Two  years  after  this  date,  we  find  this  : 

"  November  2Qth. — Once  more  at  home  with  our  three 
children,  all  well,  thanks  to  our  Heavenly  Father !  Our  lit 
tle  girl  was  so  ill  in  the  summer  that  I  feared  she  would 
have  been  ere  now  with  the  angels.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong 
to  write  feared,  but  He  who  made  a  mother's  heart,  and 

Who  knows  each  chord,  its  various  tone, 
Each  spring,  its  various  bias, 

will  forgive  me.     She  is  a  lovely  flower — our  May,  Hugh's 
pet  lamb.     She  grew  so  strong  as  the  cold  weather  came  on 


464  TWO   PICTURES. 

that  we  delayed  our  return  on  her  account,  and  should  hard 
ly  have  been  here  now,  except  that  we  became  a  little 
alarmed  for  Mr.  Mortimer's  health,  not  so  much  from  what 
he  said  of  himself  in  his  letters,-as  from  what  he  did  not  say. 
We  find  him  looking  feeble  and  worn.  What  shall  we  do 
without  him  ?  He  asked  to  see  Hugh  this  morning,  and  he 
has  gone  to  the  parsonage." 

"  November  22d. — '  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord,  and 
He  will  direct  thy  steps.'  Mr.  Mortimer  has  been  in  cor 
respondence  this  summer  with  a  young  clergyman  who,  he 
thinks,  will  be  glad  to  come  here,  if  Hugh  will  invite  him. 
He  is  highly  recommended  as  a  devout,  Christian  man,  and 
is,  besides,  a  gentleman  and  scholar.  His  first  letter  to  Mr. 
Mortimer  was  to  inquire  about  Hugh's  plans  for  his  people, 
which,  it  seems,  have  begun  to  be  noised  abroad.  lie  made 
these  inquiries  on  his  own  account,  having  himself  a  small 
property  mostly  in  slaves,  for  whose  good,  here  and  here 
after,  he  is  anxious  to  do  all  in  his  power.  His  present 
home  is  in  South  Carolina,  where  he  owns  a  plantation, 
which,  he  says,  is  not  very  productive.  Mr.  Mortimer  has 
written,  at  Hugh's  request,  to  ask  him  to  make  us  a  Christ 
mas  visit,  and  to  bring  with  him  his  young  wife." 

Later  we  read  :  "  January  15th. — Mr.  Law  and  his  wife 
left  us  to-day.  Their  visit  has  been  a  great  enjoyment,  and 
has  brought  us  bright  hopes  for  the  future.  They  are  com 
ing  to  make  their  home  with  us  on  St.  Mary's.  They  will 
sell  their  place  in  Carolina  and  remove  their  people  here. 
Hugh  does  not  feel  at  liberty  to  sell  any  part  of  this  island, 
but  he  will  make  as  long  a  lease  as  Mr.  Law  pleases  of  the 
land  he  needs,  the  payment  of  it  being  Mr.  Law's  services 
now  as  pastor  to  us  and  our  people,  and  by  and  by  as 
teacher  to  our  boys.  Mrs.  Law  is  a  cultivated,  agreeable 
woman,  and  is  quite  an  artist  with  the  pencil.  Little  May, 
will  you  ever  paint  ?  Dear  Mr.  Mortimer  looks  better 


TWO   PICTURES.  465 

already  for  the  prospect  of  a  helper  in  his  work.  The  car 
penters  are  very  busy  building  an  addition  to  the  parson 
age,  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Law  are,  by  Air.  Mortimer's  own  re 
quest,  to  reside  there." 

In  the  ensuing  autumn,  under  date  of  October  12th,  we 
read  :  "  We  have  returned  earlier  this  year,  that  we  might 
accompany  Lily,  whom  her  husband  was  impatient  to  show 
to  his  friends  at  home ;  and  that  we  might  be  ready  for  our 
dear  mother  and  Esther,  who  are  coming  to  spend  this  win 
ter,  and,  we  hope,  many  other  winters,  with  us.  What  a 
lovely  bride  our  Lily  made !  And  Hugh  says,  if  he  had  had 
the  world  to  choose  from,  he  would  have  selected  Mr.  For 
ester  for  her  husband — he  is  so  thoroughly  good.  Such  a 
son  as  he  has  been  to  his  widowed  stepmother,  and  such  a 
brother  to  his  little  half-brothers,  must  make  a  good  hus 
band  to  our  Lily.  Hugh  has  been  for  years  his  confidential 
adviser  in  the  management  of  his  people,  in  whom  he  feels 
the  interest  of  a  Christian  master,  who  does  not  forget  that 
he,  too,  has  a  Master  in  heaven.  I  rejoice  to  say  that  this 
is  not  a  rare  instance  of  Christian  faithfulness.  Our  hearts 
have  been  encouraged  and  our  hands  strengthened  by  unex 
pected  sympathy.  While  there  are  many  who,  like  my 
dear  uncle,  kind  to  their  slaves  and  careful  of  their  health 
and  comfort,  still  reject  all  innovation  on  established  usages, 
believing  it  impossible  to  raise  them  to  a  higher  status,  there 
are  more  who  are  anxiously  striving  to  lift  them  up,  to  make 
them  new  creatures,  freedmen  in  Christ  Jesus.  We  know 
instances  of  self-denying  devotedness  in  this  class  which  can 
scarcely  be  paralleled  in  the  annals  even  of  missionary  life. 
Hugh  has  lately  been  urged  to  become  a  candidate  for  the 
United  States  Senate.  At  first  I  wished  him  to  consent,  de 
siring  to  see  him  occupy  a  position  which  would  give  full 
scope  to  his  abilities,  and  ambitious,  I  acknowledge  with 
shame,  that  the  world  should  honor  him  as  he  deserves. 


40  G  TWO    PICTUKES. 

He  knew  what  was  in  my  heart,  though  I  did  not  speak  it 
out  so  boldly  to  him  as  I  am  doing  to  you,  my  little  book, 
and  he  answered  it  by  opening  the  Bible  on  my  table  and 
pointing  with  a  smile  to  the  passage  in  which  the  Apostle 
remonstrates  with  those  who '  seek  honor  one  from  another, 
rather  than  that  honor  which  cometh  from  God  only.'  To 
my  plea  that  I  wanted  to  see  him  where  his  abilities  would 
be  more  fully  exercised,  he  replied :  '  You  know,  dear 
wife,  that  the  position  in  which  they  are  now  exercised  was 
not  of  my  own  seeking  ;  I  did  not  accept  its  responsibilities 
without  counting  the  cost ;  part  of  this  cost  was  the  relin- 
quishment  of  worldly  honor  and  all  choice  in  the  exercise 
of  such  mental  power  as  God  has  given  me;  all  is  pledged 
to  this  work,  and  all  is  needed  to  prevent  honest  but  narrow- 
minded,  one-idead  men,  from  spreading  through  the  land 
and  through  the  world,  a  spurious  philanthropy,  the  coun, 
tcrfeit  presentment  of  Christian  love,  which  must  do  incal 
culable  injury  to  this  unfortunate  race.  I  have  hitherto 
found  my  best  way  of  opposing  this  to  be  through  the  press 
and  by  my  work  here ;  should  I  ever  see  reason  to  believe 
that  it  can  be  better  done  in  Congress,  I  will  go  there.' " 

Nearly  a  month  later,  we  read  :  "  November  IQth. — The 
Storm  King  has  been  abroad — has  it  been  in  wrath  or  in 
mercy  ?  In  mercy,  we  will  hope,  for  he  has  brought  home 
our  wanderer.  My  heart  is  still  too  full  for  words. 

"  November  \5th. — The  last  five  days  I  have  been  the 
constant  witness  of  a  strife  to  which  that  of  wind  and  water, 
in  their  wildest  rage,  is  tame — the  strife  of  Life  and  Death 
in  a  human  soul.  Life,  I  trust,  has  won.  Dear  Charlie! 
How  memory  springs  back  to  those  early  days  when, 
through  all  our  wilfulness,  we  yet  loved  each  other.  Will 
it  be  false  to  that  love,  if  I  leave  here  a  record  of  the  sad 
goal  to  which  you  have  been  led  in  your  chase  after  pleas 
ure  1  I  have  already  left  your  impress  here  in  your  gay, 


TWO   PICTUKES.  4G7 

innocent  youth,  and  in  your  manhood,  when  drunk  with  the 
world's  exciting  flatteries  :  shall  my  hand  tremble  to  trace 
those  '  strange  defeatures '  which  time  has  written  on  your 
once  fair  and  open  brow  ?  If  I  conquer  my  reluctance  to  do 
this,  it  is  because  I,  too,  have  a  Charlie — a  boy  whose  bright 
blue  eyes  and  merry  laugh  have  often  brought  you  before 
me — and  one  day,  when  you  and  I,  my  cousin  Charlie,  have 
gone  from  earth,  he  may  need  some  loving  voice  to  warn 
him  from  ill,  to  cheer  him  on  to  good ;  and  I  would  have  this 
little  book,  begun  in  selfish  abandonment,  and  continued  as 
a  thankful  acknowledgment  for  life's  choicest  blessings — this 
little  book,  which  may  yet  bring  back  some  tone  of  the 
mother's  voice,  that  now  wins  its  way  so  easily  to  his  heart 
— to  contain  lessons  which  may  teach  him  when  he  is  tempt 
ed  as  you  have  been,  not  to  fall,  as  you  have  done. 

"  Even  my  little  May,  now  five  years  old,  will  prob 
ably  carry  with  her  through  life,  some  memory  of  the  storm 
which,  a  week  ago,  gathered  us  all  in  the  library,  to  look 
out  upon  the  picture  that  had  so  often  awed  me  in  my  child 
hood.  The  air  was  thick  with  spray,  through  which  we 
could  yet  dimly  discern  the  sheets  of  foam,  driven  far  up 
upon  the  land  by  the  hurricane,  which  snapped  the  branches 
of  the  stout  oaks,  and  snatching  their  leaves  and  twigs, 
dashed  them  against  the  windows  through  which  we  gazed. 
I  have  never  lost  my  childish  awe  of  a  storm,  and  as  our 
good  mother,  ever  thoughtful  of  others,  cried,  '  God  pity 
the  poor  sailors  ! '  a  selfish  joy  arose  in  my  heart  that  none 
of  my  circle  of  blessings  was  exposed  to  its  fury.  The  howl 
of  the  tempest,  and  the  dash  of  its  dripping  wings  against 
my  chamber  windows,  kept  me  awake  till  long  after  mid 
night,  and  I  slept  the  next  morning  till  the  sun  stood 
high  in  a  clear  sky.  Hugh  had  risen  earlier,  and  when  I 
was  dressed,  and  with  my  little  Hugh  and  Charlie  sought 
him  in  the  breakfast  room,  I  found  that  he  had  taken  a  cup 


468  TWO   PICTURES. 

of  coffee  an  hour  before  and  mounted  his  horse  to  ride  to 
the  colony,  -where,  he  feared,  there  might  have  been  some 
suffering. 

"  'NufT  tree  blow  down  las'  night,"  said  Harry,  as  he 
gave  me  this  information.  "  I  'spec'  Massa  fin'  he  hab  to 
walk." 

The  suspicion  was  correct ;  and  fastening  his  horse  to 
the  branch  of  a  fallen  oak,  Hugh  tried  to  find,  through  the 
changed  scene,  the  footpath  leading  by  the  graveyard  to 
the  colony.  There  were  many  obstructions  in  the  way, 
rendering  it  no  easy  task,  so  that  the  sun  was  shining  very 
warmly  and  brightly  before  he  had  arrived  in  sight  of  the 
graveyard.  A  little  beyond  this  toward  the  sea,  there  is  an 
open  glade ;  and  Hugh  made  his  way  thither  to  see  how  high 
the  sea  had  flowed  in  at  this  point,  directly  toward  which 
the  wind  had  set.  The  line  of  sedge  that  marked  the  far 
thest  limit  of  the  flood  was  higher  even  than  he  had  expected 
to  find  it.  As  he  stood  looking  at  it,  and  beyond  it,  to  the 
glittering  sea  still  tossing  itself  in  but  half-subdued  agitation, 
his  dog,  which  had  followed  him  from  home,  dashed  forward, 
and  reaching  the  line  of  sedge,  began  to  race  with  wild,  frolic 
glee  to  and  fro.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  as  if  about  to  make 
a  point ;  then  running  round  in  a  circle  several  times  with 
his  nose  low  to  the  ground,  stopped  again,  and  throwing  up 
his  head,  uttered  a  long  howl.  Hugh  whistled  to  him  to 
come  in,  and  too  well  trained  to  disobey,  he  came ;  but 
when  Hugh  would  have  gone  on,  he  could  not  be  induced  to 
follow.  Turning  again,  he  ran  toward  the  shore  ;  but  halt 
ing  about  halfway,  looked  back  wistfully  at  Hugh  and  gave 
again  that  melancholy  cry.  Human  speech  could  scarcely 
have  expressed  more  intelligibly  the  desire  that  Hugh  should 
follow.  He  so  understood  it  and  went,  the  dog  bounding 
before  him  till,  halfway  between  the  uppermost  line  of  sedge 
and  the  shore,  he  stood  still  beside  what  seemed  a  heap  of 


TWO  ricTuiiES.  4G9 


sedge,  a  little  beyond  which,  were  the  broken  fragments  of  a 
boat.  Quickening  his  steps,  Hugh  soon  stood  beside  that 
heap,  and  found  the  seemingly  lifoless  body  of  a  man.  A 
little  examination  gave  him  hope  that  life  was  not  quite  ex 
tinct.  He  even  thought  there  was  a  slight  movement  in  the 
muscles  of  the  face,  as,  with  a  faint  hope  that  the  sufferer 
might  hear  and  understand,  he  said,  "  I  am  going  for  help  to 
carry  you  to  my  house  ;  my  dog  will  guard  you  while  I  am 
gone."  An  order  to  Don,  the  setter  dog,  and  he  seated 
himself,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  motionless  body,  while 
Hugh  hurried  back  to  his  horse,  and  rode  rapidly  home. 

"  There  is  a  man  fainting,  dying  ;  give  me  brandy  —  a 
spoon,  —  he  cannot  drink  from  the  bottle  ;  have  a  warm 
room  and  bed  ready  for  him,  and  send  all  the  men  after  me 
to  the  graveyard  —  the  coachman,  gardener,  Gib  and  Harry." 
He  was  already  on  his  horse,  and  scarcely  checked  him  to 
shout  back  to  me,  "  Let  them  bring  blankets  and  a  hand- 
barrow,  if  there  is  such  a  thing  about  ;  but  no  delay." 

All  was  done  as  Hugh  directed  ;  and  two  hours  after,  a 
seemingly  dying  man  was  borne  into  our  home,  Hugh  walk 
ing  beside  him,  and  occasionally  moistening  his  lips  from 
the  flask,  which  he  carried  in  his  hand.  He  was  taken  to 
the  room  prepared  for  him,  undressed,  laid  in  a  warm  bed, 
and  restoratives  administered  by  Hugh  himself,  who  never 
left  him  till  our  friend,  Mr.  Law,  who  is  a  physician  for  the 
body  as  well  as  for  the  soul,  arrived.  Trusting  his  patient 
with  him,  Hugh  came  to  me. 

"  Augusta,  do  you  know  whom  we  have  with  us  1  "  he 
asked. 

My  looks  answered  him  ;  for  there  was  something  in 
his  tones  which  almost  took  my  breath  away,  and  made  it 
difficult  for  me  to  speak.  He  drew  me  close  to  him,  and 
whispered  "  Charlie  !  " 

"  Oh,  Hugh  !  "  a  moment's  awed  silence,  and  then  came 


470  TWO   PICTURES. 

the  heart's  protest,  "  Oh,  Hugh  !  it  cannot  be ;  that  furrowed 
brow — those  sunken  cheeks,  of  which  I  caught  a  glance — it 
is  impossible ! " 

"  It  is  he,  love ;  somewhat  of  his  ill  looks  you  must 
ascribe  to  his  present  condition." 

It  was  indeed  he ;  and  when  he  seemed  almost  restored 
to  us,  life  was  again  imperilled  by  his  excitement  at  discov 
ering  whither  the  storm-spirit  had  borno  him.  For  two 
days  past,  however,  our  good  Dr.  B.,  for  whom  Hugh  sent 
immediately,  has  pronounced  his  life  out  of  danger,  and  has 
removed  all  restrictions  from  our  intercourse  with  him. 

"  Augusta,"  he  said  to  me,  yesterday,  "  I  told  you  I 
would  come  back  to  you  in  ten  years  ;  it  is  just  ten  years 
since.  Is  it  not  strange  ? " 

"  Is  not  what  strange,  Charlie  ?  that  you  should  keep 
your  promise  ?  " 

"  That  it  should  be  kept  without,  nay,  against  my  will. 
St.  Mary's  is  the  last  place  on  earth — pardon  me  for  saying 
it — to  which  I  should  have  come  by  my  own  desire.  Do 
not  look  hurt — it  was  neither  you  nor  Hugh ;  it  was  my 
own  past  self  I  could  not  bear  to  meet." 

"  Is  the  present  self  so  much  better  and  happier,  Char 
lie  ?  But  it  is  your  turn  to  pardon  now — I  had  no  right  to 
ask  that." 

"  Ask  what  you  will,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  will  answer 
you,  if  I  can.  Better,  you  ask  ?  no — happier  ?  yes — well, 
pci-haps  not  happier — I  believe  not — but " — he  paused,  and 
a  deeper  shadow  fell  on  his  pale,  thin  face,  and  his  voice 
sank  lower,  as  he  added,  "  there  are  some  things  we  would 
gladly  forget  forever.  For  that  matter,  I  should  have  no 
objection  to  forget  my  whole  life ;  a  dreamless  sleep  is  not 
an  unpleasant  thing  in  prospect  for  one  whose  life  has  disap 
pointed  all  his  wishes  and  destroyed  all  his  faith  in  himself." 

"  Faith  in  ourselves,  dear  Charlie,"  I  said,  in  a  voice 


TWO    riCTUKES.  4:71 

which,  if  it  was  not  tender,  belied  my  heart,  "  faith  in  our 
selves,  we  all  find  to  be  a  very  fragile  thing,  I  fear ;  but 

there  is  a  faith  which  never  fails  us  " 

I  had  laid  my  hand  on  his,  while  speaking  ;  he  drew  his 
away  with  a  quick  and  impatient  movement,  and  turning  from 
me,  closed  his  eyes  as  if  to  sleep.  God  help  us  to  do  him  good  ! 

So  far  wre  have  quoted  from  the  journal ;  but,  that  we 
may  have  time  and  space  for  details  more  interesting  to  the 
reader,  we  must  touch  the  changes  that  followed  in  Charles 
Moray's  life,  more  hastily  than  Augusta  Moray's  tenderness 
permitted  her  to  do. 

Though  restored  to  life,  Charles  Moray  continued  to 
suffer  from  his  exposure  during  that  terrible  night,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  make  it  necessary  that  he  should  spend  the 
winter  in  a  warm,  climate.  Resisting  all  persuasions  to 
remain  at  St.  Mary's — receiving  them,  indeed,  with  almost 
childish  petulance, — he  went  off  to  Savannah  ;  but  a  return 
of  illness  sent  him  back  to  Hugh  and  Augusta  more  con 
scious  of  his  dependence  on  their  care.  It  was  a  care  exer 
cised  with  such  unobtrusiveness,  that  it  rarely  jarred  even 
the  morbid  sensitiveness  of  an  invalid.  Most  anxious  for 
his  soul's  health,  Augusta  might,  by  imprudent  urgency, 
have  excited  his  resistance  to  the  truth  she  desired  to  com 
mend,  had  not  Hugh  restrained  her. 

"  Let  us  live  our  principles — not  talk  them,"  he  said. 
"  Charlie  may  shut  his  e.ars  against  our  voices,  but  he  can 
not  close  his  heart  against  the  influence  of  a  consistent,  Chris 
tian  life." 

Respect  for  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Mortimer,  led  Charles 
Moray  to  the  church ;  and  the  truths  he  heard  there,  cer 
tainly  acquired  new  force  from  the  lives  of  those  around 
him.  When  he  had  heard  Hugh  profess  his  desire  to  hold 
the  property  which  God  had  given  him  only  as  His  steward, 


472  TWO   PICTURES. 

and  to  make  his  position  of  master  but  a  vantage  ground, 
from  which  he  could  better  teach  and  guide  the  slaves, 
whose  guidance  he  accepted  as  his  life-work,  Charles  Moray 
had  listened  to  it  as  to  the  dream  of  an  enthusiast,  noble, 
beautiful,  but  impossible.  Here  he  saw  the  dream  fulfilled ; 
and  before  the  majesty  of  such  a  life  he  strove  in  vain  to 
maintain  his  careless  levity.  The  continued  delicacy  of  his 
health  made  a  mild  winter  climate  necessary  to  him  ;  and 
after  the  experience  of  the  home  life  of  St.  Mary's,  the  life 
of  foreign  travel,  with  its  loneliness  of  heart  in  the  midst  of 
gay  and  busy  crowds,  offered  nothing  tempting  to  the  sated, 
weary  invalid.  He  therefore  returned  winter  after  winter 
to  Hugh  and  Augusta ;  and  each  year  their  hearts  were 
gladdened  by  seeing  his  increasing  interest  in  the  success  of 
their  plans  and  the  growing  power  of  Christian  truth  as  a 
restraining  principle  in  his  life.  And  so,  with  these  good 
omens  brightening  the  termination  of  a  career,  which  has 
long  ago  left  pleasure  behind,  and  which  had  little  hap 
piness  to  leave,  we  part  with  him  and  return  to  Hugh  and 
his  plans. 

Hugh  Moray  was  cheered  by  seeing  the  influence  of 
his  example  extend  first  to  his  neighbors,  and  then  to 
others  more  remote.  Men,  who  had  satisfied  themselves 
with  making  the  bodies  of  their  slaves  comfortable,  began 
to  recognize  the  needs  of  their  spirits.  Men,  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  talk  in  an  apologetic  tone  of  their  relation  to 
slavery ;  who  had  pleaded,  in  extenuation  of  that  relation, 
that  it  was  not  their  deed  ;  that  it  was  England  which  had 
forced  it  upon  them ;  that  it  was  the  trading  communities 
of  the  Northern  United  States  which  had  brought  these  people 
from  their  homes  in  Africa,  and  landed  them  at  their  doors ; 
that  immediate  emancipation  was  clearly  impossible,  and 
they  must  do  the  best  possible  with  them  since  the  best 
absolute  was  not  in  their  power — these  men,  rising  to  a 


TWO   PICTURES.  473 

higher  stand-point,  began  to  see  more  truly, — to  see  that  not 
England,  not  their  Northern  neighbors,  but  God,  who  rules 
on  earth  as  in  heaven,  according  to  the  counsel  of  His  own 
righteous  will,  had  brought  to  their  doors  these  .beings,  so 
ignorant  and  degraded,  yet  none  the  less  His  children  arid 
their  brethren,  that  they  might  lead  them  to  that  truth 
which  should  form  them  anew  in  the  image  of  God.  They 
began  to  repent,  not  of  slaveholding,  for  in  this  they  could 
not  recognize  a  sin ;  it  was  but  a  condition  in  which  they 
had  been  placed  by  the  providential  circumstances  of  their 
birth :  their  repentance  was  that  they  had  failed  to  estimate 
the  greatness  of  the  trust  committed  to  them,  and  that  they 
had,  therefore,  failed  to  meet  its  high  responsibilities.  Con 
sulting  with  Hugh,  they  brought  to  him  many  difficulties, 
some  speculative,  some  practical. 

"  Do  not  your  views,"  said  one,  "  authorize  a  contin 
uance  of  the  slave-trade  with  Africa  or,  indeed,  with  any 
heathen  nation "? " 

"  By  no  me'ans,"  was  the  decided  answer.  "  In  the  dark 
ness  of  the  past,  good  men  might  engage  in  such  a  business, 
and  '  the  times  of  that  ignorance  God  winked  at,'  overruling 
the  mistakes  as  well  as  the  wrath  of  man  for  the  good  of 
His  creatures  and  the  glory  of  His  name.  What  was  com 
mitted  to  us  for  such  purposes,  we  may  have  used  meanly 
and  selfishly.  If  so,  let  us  set  ourselves  vigorously  to  work 
to  undo  the  evil  we  have  done ;  but  feeling  already  that  our 
responsibilities  are  so  heavy,  we  shall  be  the  last  to  desire 
their  increase." 

Hugh  Moray  had  chosen  his  life-work  ;  and,  as  we  have 
seen  from  the  journal  of  his  wife,  he  had  refused  to  leave  it 
at  the  call  of  ambition.  There  came  a  time,  however,  when 
he  felt  that  at  the  centre  of  our  national  life, — the  senate 
chamber  at  Washington, — he  must  meet  and  grapple  with 
influences,  fraught  with  deadly  peril  to  his  hopes.  He  ac-> 


TWO    PICTURES. 

cordingly  consented  to  his  nomination,  was  elected,  and 
served  out  his  term  of  six  years.  But  he  declined  a  reelec 
tion,  convinced  that  the  calm  voice  of  Truth  could  not  be 
heard  amid  the  discordant  clamors  of  the  selfish  interests 
represented  there.  His  last  letter  to  his  wife,  from  Wash 
ington,  closed  with  the  words,  "  Be  brave  and  hopeful  for 
me,  my  darling,  for  I  have  become  a  coward  before  the 
phantoms  of  the  future." 

And  Augusta  was  strong,  and  brave,  and  hopeful,  when 
Hugh  returned  to  his  home,  relaxed  and  spiritless.  There  he 
soon  grew  strong  again  in  the  exercise  of  the  Christian  char 
ities,  to  which  he  had  devoted  himself:  "  Work  and  wait," 
was  his  motto. 

And  now  we  will  look  once  more  upon  St.  Mary's,  smil 
ing  in  all  the  dewy  freshness  of  the  early  spring.  The  Cher 
okee  roses  are  again  whitening  the  hedges,  which  a  few 
weeks  ago  showed  only  the  glossy  green  of  their  leaves  ; 
the  jessamine  is  sending  its  flaunting  tendrils  into  the  win 
dow  of  that  library  which  was  once  the  scene  of  reunion 
between  two  hearts  severed  by  treachery.  There  they  sit 
— she  in  matronly  beauty,  undimmed  as  yet  by  advancing 
years,  no  thread  of  silver  in  the  glossy  black  of  her  hair,  no 
line  of  care  upon  her  brow.  Her  lips  have  lost  the  haughty 
curve  that  sometimes  marked  them  in  earlier  life.  At  this 
moment,  however,  the  face  is  not  quite  serene. 

Augusta  is  reading  a  newspaper  which  bears  a  foreign 
postmark.  From  this,  and  from  the  letters  scattered  on 
the  table  on  which  Hugh  Moray  writes,  we  augur  that  the 
semi-weekly  mail  has  just  come  in.  Suddenly  Augusta  lifts 
her  eyes.  They  are  sad,  and  some  irrepressible  emotion 
causes  her  lip  to  quiver  and  her  voice  to  falter  slightly  as 
she  exclaims,  "  Oh,  Hugh  !  how  unjust !  " 

"  You  are  reading  that  review  of  '  Uncle  Tom,'  with  its 


TWO   PICTURES.  475 

unflattering  portraiture  of  Southern  planters,"  said  Hugh, 
looking  up  with  a  smile. 

"  That  they  should  think  thus  of  you  !  "  added  Augusta, 
while  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes  kindled  as  she  con 
trasted  the  picture  of  the  vulgar  and  beastly  tyrant  just 
presented  to  her,  with  the  image  enshrined  so  reverently  in 
her  heart. 

"  You  know,  love,  there  are  two  sides  to  every  picture," 
said  IIu"-h,  still  smiling,  but  with  tender  seriousness  in  his 

O      '  O' 

voice,  as  if  he  read  her  thoughts. 

"  True ;  and  I  thank  God  there  are — that  we  are  not 
obliged  to  see  ourselves  or  each  other  as  the  false  world  sees 

O 

us,"  answered  Augusta,  warmly. 

"  You  are  right,  dear  wife.  The  world's  picture  of  us  is 
seldom  just ;  to  look  at  it  would  either  inflate  us  with  van 
ity,  or  irritate  us  by  a  sense  of  wrong  ;  we  will  turn  from 
it,  and  try  to  see  ourselves  as  God  sees  us  j  this  will  make 
us  at  once  humble  and  hopeful." 

In  the  quiet  strength  derived  from  this  thought  of  a 
Divine  Rectifier  of  all  human  judgments,  we  take  leave  of 
those  whom  we  have  followed  thus  far  on  the  journey  of  life. 
There  is  little  to  fear  for  them  while  they  thus  draw  their 
life  from  a  heavenly  source. 

One  parting  word  to  the  Reader.  We  have  looked  to 
gether  on  many  pictures  here,  and  have  seen  to  each  of  them 
two  aspects :  the  world's  favorites  have  looked  darkly  to  us 
when  we  viewed  them  on  the  reversed  side,  and  some  whom 
tho  world  contemned  have  shown  themselves  to  us  as  glori 
fied  by  the  light  of  truth,  courage,  and  loyalty  to  their  Mas 
ter  in  heaven.  What  may  be  the  world's  portraiture  of 
you,  then,  you  may  esteem  as  of  little  moment.  It  may  be 
all  fair  and  lovely,  it  may  be  all  dark  and  hideous ;  it 
scarcely  can  bo  just.  Look  rather  at  that  picture  which 


476  TWO    PICTURES. 

conscience  is  making  of  you  by  successive  touches,  each  day, 
each  hour  of  your  life.  Let  not  self-love  tone  down  its  dark 
shadows,  or  delude  you,  by  throwing  her  false  and  daz 
zling  lights  into  the  picture.  Look  on  yourself  truly,  and  it 
will  help  you  to  look  on  others  charitably,  'ind  on  God 
reverently. 


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